Death by a Blade
by sweettea1
Summary: Sa'ida is a dancer, and she always will be a dancer for Damascus. However, that all changes when she meets Altair - a hardened Master Assassin with an arrogant personality. Her eyes see an emotionless killer, but her heart sees a man who has lost everything near and dear to him. Can and will Sa'ida reach out to Altair, or will she merely become an obstacle in his path?
1. Chapter 1: Sa'ida Basilah

**Author's Note: **Hello, dear readers, and welcome to my _first_ Assassin's Creed story. I will shamelessly admit that AC is one of my favorite video games to play, and (no shocker) Altair is my favorite Assassin so far (haven't played ACIII yet). But, yes, this is the new story that the plot bunnies have nagged me about, so I wrote it out and now, posting it. Hopefully, this will develope into a good story, and I hope you all enjoy it. Please R&R to let me know what you think. :)

_**Disclaimer: I, sweettea1, do not own Assassin's Creed in any form or blade. I only own my OCs (Sa'ida Basilah, Ghalib Basilah, and Fahdah Ishraq) and the plot. Credit goes to DecepticonShadowfire for helping me with Sa'ida's name.**_

Now, I give you, _Death by a Blade_...

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**Chapter I:**

**Sa'ida Basilah**

_"A woman's life can really be a succession of lives, each revolving around some emotionally compelling situation or challenge, and each marked off by some intense experience." -Wallis Simpson_

* * *

Damascus. A beautiful city, especially during 1190. The sun rose and cast it shining rays upon the simple dwellings' rooftops and the paved streets and the lonesome palm trees. Towers shot up towards the cloudless sky, glory practically radiating off of them, while the church steeple reminded the people where it stood and where they could go to worship their God. Simply beautiful and unaffected by wars or crusades…

Through the streets, people swarmed and scrambled about, each occupying their appointed district: whether it be the poor district, the middle district, or the rich district. The poor district, despite its rough living conditions and the beggar women that were at every corner, it still retained some of the remainder of its former beauty and the people did what they could in their conditions. Meanwhile, the rich district, though less populated, had plenty of finely dressed men and woman strolling its streets. Drunkards walked aimlessly about with their alcoholic beverages still clasped in their palms, throwing slow and lazy punches at anyone who crossed their path (although, they hardly ever were able to hit their target due to their drunkenness, so they simply cursed with slurred words and laughed woozily). Then, finally, their was the middle district, which, as its name describes, lies between the poor and rich district. It was the most populated, and therefore, its streets were crowded with decently dressed, hard working citizens and several merchants who tried to auction their merchandise to the multitudes. But, each district lived in subtle harmony with each other nevertheless.

Now, despite the difference between the amount of wealth of each district and the living conditions and the varying populations, each one had their similarities. Each district housed numerous guards that patrolled the streets, armed bodies clanking in tune to their steps. They kept basic order within the city and within each district, although, most do rather poorly. Most misjudge the people and blamed crimes on the ones who had not committed them; and still, even more hardly ever intervene in a fistfight, merely watching and snickering and betting upon who would win. However, the people kept their mouths shut (whether in the streets or within the comfort of their homes) about what they thought of the guards and their pointless and unfair acts. At least they did their job in protecting the city from foreign invaders. The people would just have to sacrifice, and hope they aren't unlucky enough to be the guards' next 'victim of injustice.'

However, that did not concern one particular woman who goes by the name Fahdah Ishraq. Most would consider her boastful and arrogant, unafraid to show off her curves with her scanty outfits. She danced for the entertainment of others, mostly in the middle district but occasionally being invited to the more extravagant parties within the rich district. Now, combine this fact with her fierce hatred with the guards within the city and her disregard for the people she saw that were lesser than her, and you can see just how arrogant, rude, and disrespectful this woman can be. Nevertheless, she was rather…'popular' with many within Damascus, even though, her friends seemed to share her same attitude and personality.

Well, that is, except for Sa'ida Basilah. Sa'ida was a fellow dancer of Fahdah, as well as a close friend, despite their many differences. Fahdah was always ready and willing to dance in front of multitudes and show as much skin as was allowed on the streets of the middle district, while Sa'ida often shied away and covered her body. It could be scorching outside and Sa'ida would dress in heavy robes that covered every square inch of her skin, leaving only hands, feet, and face to peep out. What a wonder it was upon _how_ Fahdah was able to convince her companion to finally step out of her 'comfort zone' and join her. Sa'ida still hated herself for accepting the foolish, embarrassing, and demoralizing job as to dance for the citizens of this city, mostly comprised of men half-drunk, much to her disgust.

Now the two women were returning from one of the parties in the rich district; three hours of not stop dancing and twirling around the party guests. Sa'ida swore she would _not_ dance again for the rest of the week, tired from both the physical effort and the discomfort. At least now they were back in _their _district, and heading back to _their _homes. She could only stand so many people (the majority being drunk, once again) and dancing in her uncomfortable and mortally embarrassing apparel. However, none of the experience seemed to have demoralized Fahdah in any way as the woman smiled charmingly at the people around her, occasionally winking at the men or giving a little sway of her hips to woo them.

Actually, that's what Fahdah was doing right now to a charming young man, rocking her hips from side to side and letting her fingertips brush his shoulder. Naturally, the man paused and quirked an eyebrow, smooth smile gracing his lips as he looked her up and down. He opened his mouth to comment, but Sa'ida grabbed Fahdah's perfectly tanned arm and yanked her away, disrupting her flirting.

"Come now, Sa'ida. I think he took a liking to my dance." Fahdah gave a light, airy laugh as she let Sa'ida drag her along, sparing the young man she had flirted with a wave goodbye. Beneath the hood of her cloak, Sa'ida grimaced and her cheeks flushed a bright red for some reason. Why must Fahdah be so…_that_. And how could she do it so easily, effortlessly, charmingly?

"I believe it is best that you get a full night's rest than sleep with that man. Wasn't that your objective, Fahdah?" Sa'ida finally replied back. And my, was she satisfied with the reaction she received from Fahdah. Her friend's face went slack with shock at her words, her cheeks, ears, and neck flushing rose-red and her flashy blue eyes widening.

"Sa'ida!" she protested, but said nothing else due to her utter embarrassment. Sa'ida chuckled, releasing her hold on Fahdah's arm once she was happy with the distance she put between them and that man. Home was just across the souk; however, the souk was also the main attraction for merchants. The greedy men shouted out several prices at the people and rejoicing when they caught one's attention. And, not only did the merchants bother Sa'ida (giving her the occasional headache), the thick crowd made her want to shrink back, find a corner, and curl up in a ball. However, the inner drive to reach home kept her from carrying out her unspoken plans.

Fahdah touched Sa'ida's shoulder lightly, making said woman turn to face her friend. Fahdah waved her hand, motioning for Sa'ida to follow, before walking gracefully down an opposite pathway that skirted the edge of the souk. A smile gracing her lips, Sa'ida gratefully followed Fahdah, catching up to her in few strides. The flashy woman may be selfish at times, or rude to those who were lesser than herself, but underneath all of those flaws, Fahdah still carried a good heart deep down. Sa'ida was just one of those lucky people who had the chance to see that rare kindness that exposed itself on occasions, reserved especially for those close to Fahdah.

The two woman made their way around the busy souk in silence, leaving Sa'ida to her own thoughts. A list of tasks that needed to be done once she returned home swam through her mind. With herself being the only able, working hands around the household, she withheld the responsibilities of much of what went on about her home. With her father, Ghalib Basilah, in bed, ill with the same sickness her mother had died from, there was no rest for Sa'ida, physically or mentally. Her father may still retain the head of the household, but he could do nothing with this sickness that has befallen him. Sa'ida hoped and prayed, wishing for a miracle and that her father would recover rather than face the same fate as her mother; but, alas, little change with his health has yet to occur. Yet another reason Sa'ida hated to go to these parties and dance ceaselessly; she left her father alone for long hours throughout the day. 'Dreadful, but necessary' her father always told her.

"You know, Sa'ida, I haven't seen many guards out today," Fahdah spoke casually, letting the words fall freely from her mouth without a care in the world. "Should they not be patrolling the streets, guarding us from danger?"

"Fahdah!" Sa'ida snapped in an attempt to silence her friend.

"Come now, Sa'ida; their names imply their duties! Instead of wondering about, flashing their weapons to woo the women, and blaming the innocents of this city for foolish crimes, they should be protecting this city! It's a wonder how Damascus has not fallen to the Crusades and war by now!"

"Do you wish to be arrested?" Sa'ida demanded in a harsh whisper, giving Fahdah a heated glare from beneath her hood. However, she did not allow the other woman a chance to answer her question before speaking again. "I would imagine not, so keep your tongue silent!" With that, Fahdah obeyed, frowning as the sway to her step vanished as she resorted to a stubborn march. Stunningly blue eyes turned away from Sa'ida and back towards the souk, scanning over the swarming mass of people. Sa'ida let an audible sigh escape her lips, letting the argument slide. It was hard to have a conversation with Fahdah at times, the stubborn woman always having to make a comment the guards that protected Damascus. Sa'ida always scolded Fahdah that her careless words were bring trouble and harm upon her, but Fahdah never listened. She merely brushed away the words like they were nothing and continued to express her thoughts. One day, _one day_, Fahdah would get into trouble and Sa'ida would be powerless to help.

It wasn't much longer till the Fahdah and Sa'ida reached the other side of the souk. They parted ways with silent goodbyes before heading towards their respective households. Sa'ida arrived at the front of a mere one story, clay home with a flattened, sun-baked rooftop. Crude and worn windows were etched onto the wall on either side of the wooden door. It definitely was not the most luxurious of all the buildings in the middle district, but to Sa'ida, it was home.

"_Abba_?" Sa'ida called gently as she stepped into the dwelling, shutting the door quietly behind her. The sitting room was simple with only a few furnishings. A small, wooden table occupied the far left wall with four stools with plush pillows on their hard surfaces circling said table, while the sooty fireplace took up the majority of the far right wall. A soft mat covered with colorful pillows was placed in front of the fireplace. Sa'ida normally found herself sitting in front of that fireplace, staring into the dancing embers through the long hours of the night before finally retiring to bed; or, sometimes, she might simply fall asleep in that nest of pillows.

A grunt from the opposite room pulled Sa'ida from her memories. She quickly walked through the clay arch that was carved into the wall straight ahead of her, appearing in the bedroom. The room was dark, only a sliver of light peeping through the closed curtains that covered the only window in the room. Sa'ida sighed, remembering the painful memories of when her father first became ill. He cringed at the slightest ray of light, and he strictly order that no light should enter his household. Sa'ida obeyed, making sure that the curtains of her father's bedroom were closed constantly, but she did not treat the other rooms in the same manner. Her father hardly ever left this room, so why should she curse the other rooms with no light?

"Ah, Sa'ida, _azeezee_," her father, Ghalib, rumbled from his position on the mattress that sat in the far left corner, far away from the window and the sun's bright rays. Sa'ida fought back the tears that filled her eyes each time she saw her father. The man that she once knew - the strong, brave, kind-hearted, loving father she once knew - seemed to have vanished, leaving a frail and sickened man in its place. The only thing that remained was his deep, soothing voice and the twinkle in his eye that sparkled every time he looked at her. That same twinkle used to brighten for her mother before the caring woman passed away from her illness. "Did you have fun at the party?" Ghalib asked through wheezy breaths, making Sa'ida return her attention to her sick father once again.

"No, _abba_, it was absolutely dreadful," Sa'ida replied bitterly as she walked over to her father's bedside, a sour look dawning on her features. "I never derive joy from dancing in front of those drunken fools."

"Now, now, _azeezee_, you shouldn't speak like that," Sa'ida's father soothed as he reached over and grabbed her hand, holding it gently. He paused for a long moment - like he had forgotten his words and was trying to grasp them once again - while he traced small circles on the back of his daughters smooth hand. Even through the all the hard and busy work she put her hands through, they were still soft and smooth and undamaged. Taking another shaky breath, Ghalib cast his daughter a wary look, letting a faint, weak smile cross his lips. "It may be dreadful, but it is necessary."

"I know, _abba_, I know," Sa'ida mumbled in a defeated way as the sour look slowly vanished from her face. "But I want to do something worth-while, not dance around in circles for the men of this city. It never helps me to overcome my shyness like Fahdah promised; the only thing we gain from it is the money, and that's the only reason I still do it! It's so scornful, humiliating…_umm_ would never approve…"

Ghalib gave another feeble sigh, squeezing his daughter's hand. "I know, Sa'ida. I wish I could rise off this bed and return to my duties so you wouldn't have to do those things; but alas, that is not what God commands. We must be strong. In time, perhaps, we will see what His plans are for us both." Sa'ida's father stopped his speech, coughing harshly, making his frail body shudder violently. Sa'ida tightened her grip on her father's hand, letting her eyes fall to the floor as she waited for her father to recover from his coughing fits. Once the coughing ceased, Ghalib leaned back on his bed, letting his eyes close. "Have faith, Sa'ida. Time will tell. I will not hinder you further from your responsibilities with my chatter. Go on, I will be fine, _azeezee_."

Sa'ida nodded, whispering a silent 'rest well, _abba_' and giving him a light kiss on the forehead. She exited the room just as swiftly and quietly as she had entered, making her way to the makeshift kitchen to prepare tonight's meal.

* * *

Sa'ida sat in front of the fireplace, watching with glowing hazel eyes as the flames danced along the firewood, cackling madly as it burnt the bark with some imaginary, sadistic glee. Darkness had settled long ago upon the city of Damascus, and her father had slept throughout most of the day, waking only to eat his evening meal. Oh, how she wished that her father would rise from that lumpy mattress and tear down those curtains and face the beaming rays of the sun. But alas, it has been months since he has risen from that bed, since he has left that room; and each day, Sa'ida worried he would breath his last breath and leave her alone in this world.

Hot, salty tears burned her eyes, and she tore her gaze from the flames and she buried her face in her arms. Silent sobs escaped her mouth, but she made sure they were muffled enough so her father would not wake to her crying. She was a young lady, a grown woman, she should not cry; she needed to stay strong and support the only family she had left.

_The only family she had left_. The words made her heart ache; made more tears flow freely down her cheeks. Dull pain from the shear reality of those words burned down to her very core. She had no brothers or sisters to support and comfort her, to wrap her up in their embrace; her mother has not been in her life for fourteen long years, death claiming her soul so early in life; and now her father, practically lying on death's bed with an unknown amount of days left on this Earth. If he breathed his last breath, she would have no one.

Well, not entirely true. There was Fahdah. Fahdah would comfort her, embrace her, wipe away her tears - be the sister that Sa'ida never had. That thought warmed her heart, and Sa'ida wiped her tears away with the sleeve of her cloak, sniffling quietly. At least she would have one person to turn to if death claimed her father.

Sa'ida laid down on her side, resting her head on one of the plush pillows that covered the mat she sat on. The flames continued to enchant her, emitting warm waves of heat and dancing and cackling madly. Slowly, sleep claimed the young woman as her eyelids slid shut and her breathing evening out, with only one thought fluttering through her mind.

This time, someone was dancing _for her_ entertainment tonight.

* * *

So, there ya' go! First Chapter, got to know the OCs of this story (or, at least, most of the facts about them ;D). And don't worry - Altair will be appearing soon, but I don't want to rush into it too fast too soon. But, hope you enjoyed and please, don't be afraid to drop a review! ;) Until next time...


	2. Chapter 2: Dancing with Guards

**Author's Note: **Hello once again, dear readers. Happy to finally have Chapter 2 of _Death by a Blade_ written and posted. And I'm really happy to see this story has garnered some followers and favorites, as well :). Thank you to all the readers who have taken the time to read and/or review this story, and to the wonderful followers and favorites of this story. I truly appreciate the support you have given me.

**Reply to Reviews:**

_**unknown author 5342215: **_I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far! Hope you love this Chapter just as much! ^^

_**Sera22: **_Yeah, it can be quite the challenge with the setting of the first _Assassin's Creed _game; but, I'm giving it my all so I can make sure they "act" and "speak" according to their time ;). Glad to hear that my OCs have proven themselves so far! However, as a warning, don't get _too_ attached to anyone quite yet...*cue 'dun dun dun'* Hope you enjoy this Chapter, and let me know what you think of "my" Altair in this Chapter. Hoping I portrayed him well...

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed in any form or blade; I only own my OCs (Sa'ida Basilah, Ghalib Basilah, Fahdah Ishraq, and 'Azab). Credit goes to DecepticonShadowfire for helping me with Sa'ida's name.**_

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**Chapter II:**

**Dancing with Guards**

_"You found me, you found me, Lying on the floor; Surrounded, surrounded." -The Fray, "You Found Me"_

* * *

Sa'ida wiped the sleep from her eyes and arched her back to stretch it. Once again, she had fallen asleep before the fire place, waking up to utter soreness and exhaustion. However, there was no time to sleep-in or lounge around the house; she had early morning tasks that needed to be completed before she set off with Fahdah that afternoon to yet _another _feast. Sometimes Sa'ida wonder how people in the rich district - wealthy or not - could afford such celebrations every other day. Perhaps they truly did not have anything better to do.

Despite the lingering thought, Sa'ida slipped on her robes before silently propping her door open. The wooden door creaked slightly, making her wince and pause. She waited a few moments to see if the noise had awakened her father; but when silence continued to reign, she stepped outside of her household and shut the door quickly behind her.

She looked up and down the pavement, taking notice to the lack of people roaming the pathway. Part of her had expected to see a greater majority of people at this late in the morning, but she shrugged away the thought away and tugged the hood of her cloak over her head. It made her a little somber to think that even when only a few souls were roaming the streets, she still shrunk back with shyness and hid in the safe confines of her robes. Well, she might as well enjoy those 'safe confines' before the feast/party began…

Eventually, Sa'ida reached the edge of the oddly quiet souk. She scanned the perimeter briefly, mildly shocked by the peacefulness that enveloped the normally bustling souk. Merchants were still setting up and sorting through their stands; the occasional individual could be seen reclining on one of the stone benches; a rioter was preparing for a long day of shouting at the people to either support or denounce King Richard; and, for once, Sa'ida could actually hear the gurgle of the small fountain that was centered within the souk. Amazing how peaceful the souk could become when given the opportunity.

Sa'ida removed herself from her slightly dazed state and willed her feet to move forward again. She had planned on shopping for some necessities from the souk merchants, but seeing as the morning was moving rather slowly for some reason, that would have to be her last stop.

As she passed the fountain, she noticed two men standing next to aforementioned fountain, apparently having an important conversation. She turned her head slightly, studying each man but failing to recognize either of them; and when she tried to make sense of their harsh whispers, all she could make out were a few choice words. Persistent and a little curious, Sa'ida strained to hear the exchange of words between the two men, not realizing that she had paused mid-step and was obviously leaning in their direction.

"Can I help you?" one the men practically hissed, making Sa'ida blink several times and realize that she had stopped in her tracks to listen. She hadn't even attempted to make the action appear nondescript; just standing and leaning towards them in an attempt to hear them better. Immediately, she blushed, and she was thankful the men could not see her due to coverage of the hood.

"I'm sorry," Sa'ida replied apologetically, dipping her head down in submission.

"You should be. Now go mind your own business!" the same man barked harshly before lowering his voice once again. Sa'ida cast the man one last glance, an unseen frown crossing her features before she continued across the length of the souk. In the back of her mind, she wondered idly what the men were talking about that they would be speaking so lowly. She would assume men like them would be more boastful and expressive, not resorting to whispers. Well, there was nothing she could do about it now, and it wasn't any of her business. She would hate it if some passerby eavesdropped on one of her conversations she wished to keep quiet.

_Do unto others as you would have them do to you_. Sa'ida remembered her father teaching that lesson to her long ago, shortly after the death of her mother. And right now was the best time to put that lesson to use.

* * *

He found himself sitting on the cool surface of the stone bench, scanning the souk with sharp eyes. The morning was strangely quiet and very few people roamed the streets, save for a few citizens, merchants, and guards. No one paid him any interest or attention, and he wasn't complaining in the slightest bit. He had a job to do, and he was intent to finish it quickly so he could recover what he had lost. His rank, his honor, his appointed authority - all stripped away from him. Now he found himself scouring the city of Damascus for information upon his target; laborious and taxing work set aside for the lower rank of Novices.

Which, to his dismay, Altair was now. A Novice by rank, but Master Assassin by skill. His finest weapons were even confiscated, leaving him with his fists, hidden blade, and sword; not enough to accomplish an assassination mission. Or at least, in his eyes, it was not enough. Not what he was accustomed to or fond of. However, Al Mualim saw things differently, and Altair could not deny his master's orders. Thus, it led him to this position: a Novice sitting on a bench, hoping to discover at least a sliver of information. Information that had yet to show itself.

An inaudible huff of irritation left Altair's lips as he straightened from his slouched position. He tilted his head slightly so he could look skyward, making note of the position of the rising sun. He judged that he had been sitting there for roughly an hour, and yet, he was just as misinformed as he had been when he had first sat down. The Rafiq obviously mislead him to a dead end. No need to waste time here any longer…

"Do you understand?"

"Yes, I am to deliver the letter to your merchant friend."

Or, perhaps, he should stay just a little longer. Altair readjusted himself on the bench, canting his head so he could peer outside of his hood. Two men entered the souk from the eastern pathway, slowly making their way to the center fountain before pausing in front of aforementioned fountain, talking in low voices. Sadly for them, Altair could easily pick up on their whispers.

"And you know who to see?"

"The same man as always."

"Do not think to betray my presence in this city. We have many eyes, many ears…"

"And many arms, yes. Good for silencing those who say too much. I know this well. You have my word."

"Good, then-"

The sudden stop in the conversation made Altair raise his head just a bit more, scanning for the problem that caused the man to stop mid-sentence. His gaze immediately fell upon the hooded figure leaning indiscreetly towards the two men to listen in on their private conversation. And, judging by the figure's shape, it was a woman. Altair snorted quietly in amusement at the terrible sense of curiosity of the particular woman before lowering his gaze back down to his feet. One of the men - who had originally been harassing the other man - snapped angrily at the woman, and Altair could barely make out the apology she offered. Once again, the man scolded her and told her to 'mind her own business,' and the woman obeyed silently, shuffling away to other side of the souk. Altair only gave her one last glance before returning his attention back to the men. That was an…odd interruption, but it mattered not. One curious woman was _not_ going to disrupt his mission.

"Pestering woman…"

"You don't suppose she was some kind of…spy, do you?"

"Her? She is a woman, not to mention a terrible eavesdropper. The idea of _her _being some _spy _is contradicting. Don't be foolish! Now go. Be quick to deliver the message. Time is short." And with that, the man who had previously yelled at the woman departed without another word. Altair paid him no attention, however; rather, he focused on the other man carrying the letter. The right information he needed.

Altair slowly got to his feet as the man headed towards the souk's western entrance. He followed unnoticeably behind him, moving quickly and fluidly to reach him. When he was at arm's length, Altair reached into the packet hanging from the man's waist, fishing out the dusty letter. A smirk stretched across his lips in a triumphant gesture as he slipped the letter into the folds of his robes before walking down a narrow alleyway. Seems like the souk investigation wasn't a complete waste of his time after all.

* * *

By late morning, Sa'ida was already returning to the souk. She was honestly disappointed to see the souk was now bustling with citizens and merchants once again. However, no matter how much she hated being surrounded by so many people, she trudged forward, keeping her head low and staying on a direct course to the specific merchants she needed to visit.

Finally, she pushed through the crowd and was met by the overly cheerful and exuberant merchant bellowing out deals and prices from his position within his merchant stand. Sa'ida smiled as she watched the merchantman carry on his duties with enjoyment; the most enjoyment Sa'ida had ever seen in a merchantman.

Just then, the aforementioned merchant laid eyes upon her and all but yelled his greeting. "Sa'ida Basilah! I'm surprised to see you here on such a busy morning in the middle district of Damas!"

Sa'ida winced at the boisterous greeting, but greeted him back nevertheless. "'Azab. It's good to see you, too, but I wish I didn't have to come…"

"Am I really _that _terrible of a person?" 'Azab exclaimed in mock hurt; however, due to the playful smile on his features, no pity was given. 'Azab leaned his elbows against the wooden surface of his merchant stand, staring at her expectantly. "So what can I do for you, my girl?"

"I just need the usual necessities; nothing more," Sa'ida replied simply, striding over to 'Azab's stand. She let her gaze flit from item to item, examining the old and new things present on his table. Knowing 'Azab, he normally had new things displayed for the citizens to see and purchase, considering he had his ways of acquiring such valuable items. Sa'ida never knew - and never wanted to know - how he got his hands on half the items he sold. Sometimes, she wondered if 'Azab stole the items from the start.

Sa'ida was abruptly pulled out of her thoughts as a wicker basket was placed in front of her line of sight, half-way filled with fruits and vegetables that she normally purchased from 'Azab. That was the only reason she even _knew _'Azab, actually; to purchase the produce he sold at his stand, especially since they were normally in fine condition. Taking the basket, Sa'ida nodded gratefully and placed the appropriate amount of money on the table's surface.

"Pleasure doing business with you, my girl," 'Azab nodded, all but snatching the coins as soon as Sa'ida laid them down. Another quality of 'Azab: he tended to be greedy when it came to money. Something Sa'ida learned the very first day she met 'Azab.

Sa'ida hefted the basket, lifting it up until she could easily rest it on top of her head. When the basket was comfortably in place, Sa'ida began her journey once again, maneuvering through the crowds as best she could. Two more market stands - whom were owned by Namir and Thabit, two other merchantmen she had befriended - and then she could return to her home and father.

A pang of worry touched her heart as she thought about her father. Like always, she hated leaving him to fend for himself while she was carrying out the daily work and gathering necessary supplies. Yes, he had been resting when she had departed, but that didn't subdue the uneasiness. She could easily think of the endless possibilities that could happen during her absence, and none of them ended with good results. Perhaps she should…

"There's the thief! She is the one who stole my important papers!" a man cried out, making Sa'ida pull away from her thoughts and come to a sudden stop. She looked in the direction of the voice and she instantly recognized the man from early that morning. One of the men who had been conversing by the fountain. What was he talking about someone stealing 'his important papers'? And why was he pointing madly in her direction, his dark eyes boring into her own hazel ones.

And that's when the guards emerged from the now stock-still, staring crowds. Sa'ida counted at least five of them, each of them clad in armor; adorning the symbol of Damascus on their clothes; and a sword hanging from their waist and swinging in tune to their steps. Lowering the basket from her head and holding it waist high, she nervously glanced at each of the five guards, confusion obvious on her face. She hadn't stolen _anything_ from this man. All she had done was try to listen to the men's conversation. Not once had she known one of them carried important papers.

One guard - the shortest of the group - looked Sa'ida up and down, unimpressed. "Are you positive she is the one? She does not appear to be a 'thief,' as you claim."

"I am most certain! My…acquaintance…can vouch for it if necessary," the man replied sharply, flailing his arms in fury. The guard who had spoken looked between the man and Sa'ida, as if judging whether or not he should listen to his own sound theory or to the irritable man. It seemed the latter won that internal conflict as he jerked his head towards Sa'ida, ordering an unspoken command. Just like that, two of the five guards stepped forward and seized Sa'ida by her upper arms, tugging her along with them and effectively knocking the wicker basket from her grasp.

Sa'ida stumbled, muttered a barely audible curse, and canted her head to meet the gaze of the shortest guard. "You'll be coming with us, _thief_. And please, let this go along smoothly for your sake," he stated stoutly, and Sa'ida could've sworn she saw a small smirk touch his lips.

"I have done _nothing _wrong! This is a false accusation!" Sa'ida protested, but her comment was readily ignored as Short Guard turned and motioned his men to follow. They obeyed him readily while dragging a struggling and protesting Sa'ida along with them.

And he witnessed it and heard it all from his safe position on a nearby rooftop. The true question being: was he willing to help or push it aside to finish his mission?

* * *

**Author's Note 2: **And...scene! Well now, it seems Sa'ida has gotten herself in trouble already; and, not only that, we saw good ol' Altair. Guess we'll have to see if he saves Sa'ida or not...even though, I think we all know the answer ;).

Until next time...


	3. Chapter 3: Man in the White Hood

**Author's Note: **What's this? A new update already for this story? Well, it looks like you guys get an earlier-than-planned update! I will say that this Chapter has been my favorite to write so far, considering their is a fight scene. I've always taken an interest in writing a sword fight, since that type of action especially garners my attention. Any who, hope you guys enjoy this Chapter! Please R&R to let me know what you think!

**Reply to Review: **

_**Sera22: **_So I _was_ victorious upon keeping Altair in character? *relief* I agree, I hope I can keep him in character throughout the duration of this story. Keeping my fingers crossed and putting a 110% effort :). And yes, poor Sa'ida...she shouldn't remain in her predicament for too long, though... ;) Hope you enjoy and thank you for the continued support.

**_Guest (That was simply wonderful!...): _**Thanks! And don't worry, I'm sure Altair will do the right thing. He may be arrogant, but he does care :). Thank you for your review!

**_Designation Drift: _**Cheers for Altair being character! ^^ Glad to see you're enjoying the story so far and I hope not to disappoint! Thank you for the review and support! Also, since your FanFiction name is _Designation Drift_, do you take an interest in the _Transformers_ fandom? I just had to ask...*sheepish grin*

**_unknown author 5342215: _***evil laugh* I love to write cliffhangers...but, here is the next Chapter, and I promise not to leave you hangin' on this one. Thank you for the review. :)

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed in any form or blade; I only own my OCs (Sa'ida Basilah, Ghalib Basilah, Fahdah Ishraq, and 'Azab). Credit goes to DecepticonShadowfire for helping me with Sa'ida's name.**_

* * *

**Chapter III:**

**Man in the White Hood**

_"Some people come into our lives and quickly go. Some stay for a while and leave footprints on our hearts. And we are never, ever the same." -Unknown_

* * *

Altair strode confidently across the sun-bathed rooftops of Damascus. After his hindered, but overall successful endeavor at the souk, Altair was able to find more information about his assassination target with relative ease. Now he just needed to report his progress to the Rafiq and he could finally finish his mission here in Damascus. It took a great deal longer than he would have preferred, but he was satisfied to be so close to finishing. With his skill - ranking far above his current status of Novice - he would be able to dispatch Tamir easily. Even more so with the valuable information he uncovered.

Scaling the buildings that encircled the souk, Altair cast a mildly shocked glance at the bustling crowds and overly exuberant merchants that now filled the once peaceful souk. Amazing how quickly one little area could become so loud, crowded, and unnerving in such a short amount of time…

He moved forward in a brisk pace, not having any intentions upon staying there. His one goal was to reach the Assassins' Bureau and report his findings to the Rafiq, not lingering around a busy souk and staring in dumbfounded interest over it. Boots thumped lightly on the rooftops and gear and weapons clanked softly against his white robes; that was the only noise he made as he progressed. Even as he occasionally leapt from rooftop to rooftop, no additional noise emitted from him, save for a soft _thump_.

He was almost to beyond the limits of the souk when a voice - and judging by the tone, it was a man of little muscle power but strong vocals - yelled above the noises of the souk: "There's the thief! She is the one that stole my important papers!"

Altair paused his steps and turned his upper body slightly back towards the souk. By then, amazingly, the hoards of people began to settle down and direct their attention towards the flustered man. With his sharp eyes, Altair spotted the man who had been shouting - now wildly pointing and flailing his arms towards some soul he could not view from his position. Altair instantly recognized the man from earlier that morning; the same man he stole the letter with the fully detailed order for Tamir. Frown spreading across his features, Altair slowly but surely backtracked to where he had first gazed upon the souk, all the while listening in on the public conversation.

"Are you positive she is the one? She does not appear to be a 'thief,' as you claim." It was a new voice, and Altair quickly pinpointed him. It was a short, stocky guard with a rather gruff voice. He seemed to be the leader of the group of guards that followed close behind him.

"I am most certain! My…acquaintance…can vouch for it if necessary," the man he had stolen from pressed. Altair dropped down from the roof onto a small, wooden outcrop, getting a clear visual of the event taking place. As the shortest guard contemplated the man's words, Altair let his gaze move from guard to guard before letting it fall onto the poor soul being blamed for the crime he committed. However, as soon as his eyes fell upon the figure, he was surprised to see that it was the overly curious woman who tried to listen in on the two men's conversation. She wore the same worn, brown robes from earlier with the hood covering the majority of her head and face. Propped on her waist, she carried a decent sized wicker basket filled half-way with produce.

Finally, the leader of the guards made his decision and jerked his head forward, towards the unnamed woman. Two guards instantly obeyed the silent command and moved forward. They roughly grabbed the woman by the upper arms and hauled her forward, knocking the wicker basket she had carried from her hands.

The leader smirked faintly. "You'll be coming with us, _thief_. And please, let this go along smoothly for your sake."

"I have done _nothing _wrong! This is a false accusation!" the woman spoke earnestly, but the leader paid no interest in what she had to say. He signaled the guards to follow him, and they once again readily obeyed, the man he had stolen from right behind them.

Altair watched in silence as they walked away, the crowds parting for them without being told to. The overly curious woman was right: she truly had done nothing _wrong_. It was Altair who had stolen the documents and slipped away without the man even noticing. He hadn't intended the man to blame the woman for his actions; although, it would seem sensible since the man had not taken notice to him, even though he sat a mere 15 feet away at the time. And this strange woman just so happened to be walking by and trying to listen to their conversation. Actually, if she had let it be, then she would not have been blamed for this. She let curiosity get the best of her, and now she was paying the price.

Somewhat satisfied with that conclusion, Altair rose and hoisted himself back on top of the roof and turned in the general direction of the Assassins' Bureau. However, he couldn't will his feet to move forward and continued to linger upon the smudge of guilt that wormed its way into his heart. He gritted his teeth in frustration, trying to stamp out the guilt. It did not leave, much to his disappoint.

Turning around quickly and fiercely, Altair started to dash across the rooftops that surrounded the souk and headed towards the eastern exit. He moved swiftly across the rooftops as he moved towards the guards that were dragging away the curious woman.

It appeared that the Rafiq would have to wait.

* * *

They walked for quite a while through the streets of Damascus, passing by shocked citizens who gazed at Sa'ida with pitying looks but did nothing to stop the madness. It wasn't until they reached a large dwelling surrounded by various crates and barrels that they finally halted their trek. The shortest guard Sa'ida came to recognize as the group of guards' leader stalked up to the wooden door and rapped on it loudly. Almost immediately, a gangly fellow with short black hair and wearing dull red robes opened the door. The guard leader issued a sharp command that Sa'ida could not pick up and the gangly man nodded in acknowledgement before jogging briskly down the road.

The guard leader returned to his men, turning to the frazzled man who had blamed Sa'ida for stealing and spoke softly, "He will send word of our predicament and will return to inform us of what to do with the thief."

"Harsh punishment should be dealt! Common thieves will never learn unless the message is clear," the man hissed back. However, the guard leader seemed unperturbed by the disrespectful reply, dismissing the words with a wave of his hand.

"I still do not believe you have the right person. But, either way, an appropriate punishment will be served, I assure you," the guard leader reaffirmed, confidence backing his words; and that confidence made Sa'ida wince. She had, on occasion, seen other citizens escorted away for some crime they might or might not have committed. Some have returned, others have not, and it made her uneasy with fear. Would she be one of the many who never returned? Be forced to leave behind her father and her closest friend Fahdah? The mere thought made her cry out involuntarily in protest.

"Please, you must believe me! I have done nothing wrong! I let curiosity get the best of me, and I just wanted to listen…"

"And once you heard, you decided to steal from me as well! Those documents are of utmost importance, and he will have my head if I do not have that order delivered soon!" the man spat at Sa'ida, cutting her off. Sa'ida was puzzled for a moment by who 'he' was, but decided to push that fact away for another time.

"I couldn't even hear your words!" Sa'ida explained. It was a waste, however, as the man snorted in disbelief. Black, beady eyes glinting dangerously, he opened his mouth to retort, only to be cut off by the guard leader.

"So you do admit to listening in on this man's conversation?" the guard leader asked, seeking for confirmation. Sa'ida hated the feeling of regret twisting warningly inside of her, telling her she made a mistake relinquishing that tad bit of information. But she had already admitted to the fact and it was pointless to deny it now since the guard had already picked up on it.

Slowly, she nodded. "I did. But I could barely hear them, and only heard snippets of their exchange. Not enough to figure out they carried important documents as you proclaim."

A frown spreading across his features, the guard leader walked forward, the man flanking him. The guard leader glared at her - because of his size, he had to tilt his head up a bit to meet her gaze - and spoke lowly, "Then explain to me who else could have taken them if it wasn't you? No one showed this man and his companion any attention other than yourself, from what I'm hearing. So tell me right here and now, _who else could have stolen from this man?_"

"A question you will be taking to your grave."

The guard leader didn't even have time to absorb the shock of hearing the new speaker, or to even turn around to face aforementioned speaker, before a sharp blade punctured his neck. Sa'ida couldn't suppress the scream that tore free from her lips as she saw the guard leader stumble to the ground, small gurgling noises emitting from him before death claimed him. It took a few, brief moments for the four other guards that surrounded her to register that their leader had been murdered before they drew their swords with a _shing_. The man that had previously been flanking the guard leader gasped in what appeared to be terror, stumbling back.

Then, one of the guards, shouted angrily, "Kill him! Kill the murderer!" And that's when the madness ensued.

Sa'ida shrunk back, letting her back bump against the wall of the gangly man's residence as she watched. The person who had killed the guard leader was a decently tall, white robed and hooded man. Armor clad his waist and half of his chest, as well as each of his forearms; and a sword hung from his waist, which was quickly unsheathed as he prepared to face the imposing guards that stood before him.

One guard, who had been one of the guards that restrained her, lunged forward without hesitation. The white hooded man expertly dodged the incoming attack, moving easily around his opponent and then jabbing his sword forward. With a sickening slice that had Sa'ida reeling, the sword went through the guard's back and up through his heart; and, as soon as the move was executed, the blade was ripped away and poised to deflect another attack if necessary. The daring guard fell just as easily as the leader.

The remaining three guards exchanged an uneasy glance among themselves, no doubt wondering who would be the next to face this mysterious man.

Finally, the guard who had ordered the men to attack step forward without hesitation. Grim determination masked whatever concerns he had about facing the white hooded man as he to poised his sword. The two circled each other at first, sizing each other up, looking for a weak spot to strike. Confidently, the guard moved forward with quick and steady steps, swinging his sword upward, only for the white hooded man to deflect the blow with his own sword. The guard tried again, this time with sideswipe; and once again, the strike was deflected. Impatience filled the guard as he started swinging wildly, hoping to get at least one hit, one slice, at this strange and talented man. However, each swipe failed miserably; and on the final swing, the white hooded man successfully knocked the guard off his feet and drove the sword forcefully into his chest, ending the guard's life.

The remaining guards winced, cowering away as they watched another one of their fellow guards fall.

"He must be an assassin; he kills without mercy or remorse!" one of them uttered while the other bobbed his head in agreement. Slowly, they backed away, swords shaking and falling lower to the ground; and, once the white hooded man retrieved his sword and snapped his head in their direction, one of them shouted a garbled plea before turning and dashing away. The white hooded man watched him run off, not putting forth the effort to chase him, but rather switching his gaze to stare at the last guard standing. Aforementioned guard drew a breath before raising his sword once again and charging forward. The attempt, of course, was wasteful as the white hooded man sidestepped the impending attack, kicked the back of the guard's knee to make him fall, and slashing his sword across his back. The man fell to the ground, not dead, but critically injured and taking shallow breaths.

The white hooded man then turned towards the man who had blamed Sa'ida for stealing from him and stalked threateningly towards him. Sa'ida could not make out the man's protests as he hunkered back against the wall. The white hooded man seized him by the throat, pressed him against the wall, and spoke in a somewhat deep and commanding tone:

"I want you to find the commander of the guards of Damascus and tell him you made a mistake blaming this woman for a crime she did not commit. If you don't, just know I will be watching your every move. Am I understood?"

"Yes, yes! I understand! Just let me go!" the man pleaded, all disgrace he once had in his voice now gone.

"Good." The white hooded man released his grip and watched as the man scampered away, no doubt to fulfill his orders. Once the man was out of sight, he turned towards Sa'ida.

Sa'ida felt her heart leap out of her chest in fear. She had just witness this man _kill_ the majority of the guards that had held her captive. Worst of all, he killed them with little to no mercy. Was he trying to save her, or was he just a killer? Didn't the guards just call him an assassin? If that was true, why was an assassin in Damascus?

"I was half expecting a 'thank you,'" the white hooded man deadpanned, the shadow of his hood blocking any view of his face or his expression. Sa'ida jumped slightly, tentatively looking up to look into the shadows of his hood.

"A…thank you?" Sa'ida repeated, dumbfounded. The white hooded man made grunt in possible irritation while he sheathed his now bloodied sword. He strode past her, not even giving her a second glance as he did so. Turning to watch him go, she numbly said, "Thank you." He paused, turning his head ever so slightly, and grunted again, a little more satisfied though. Then he continued forward, turning to slip into the shadows of a narrow alleyway before disappearing.

Sa'ida stared at the place where he had disappeared for a moment before looking back at the corpses that now littered the pathway, blood splattered on the stones. The sight made her stomach churn and she turned away and hurried down the pathway opposite of the incident. As she traveled back to her household, the hot early afternoon sun beating down on her, she couldn't help but wonder who the man in the white hood was. She was certain now that he had staged a rescue for her, not matter how cruel and gruesome the outcome. The real question was _why_ did he save her? She didn't know him and she highly doubted he knew her. He had no reason - that she knew of - to save her.

So…why did he?

* * *

And there you have it. Altair and Sa'ida had a brief meeting, although not too pleasant. Don't worry, they'll get along at some point...key words being _some point *_mischievious smile*. Well, hope you enjoyed and please drop a review to let me know what you think.

Until next time, dear readers...


	4. Chapter 4: Assassination

**Author's Note: **Gah, I'm so late! I'm sorry, my dear readers, but it seems time really does fly *sigh*. Plus, I kept finding myself OOCing Altair everytime I write now; I think I played with Connor _way_ too much on ACIII... But, I finally have the Chapter written and ready to post. Also, thank you to all the readers who have followed, favored, and/or reviewed this story: it's a great feeling to see those special emails in my inbox, letting me know that you are reading and loving this story. :) Hope y'all enjoy!

**Reply to Reviews:**

_**Who am I: **_Sorry for the late update! I'm super glad though that you are enjoying this story and I hope this Chapter makes up for my absense. Thank you for the review. :)

_**unknown author: **_Thank you and I hope you enjoy this Chapter as well!

_**DanAlaya: **_Yeah, Altair can be a little...rough around the edges. He'll come around though...sometime. And I did feel bad for Sa'ida; I would be traumatised myself if I went through that :/ Thanks for the review!

_**Sera22:** _Yep, Altair is making progress; slowly and steadily. Although, he doesn't really help poor, shocked Sa'ida. One step at a time, I suppose. Thank you for your review and please, enjoy the long awaited Chapter. :)

**_Suomenlinna: _**I guess you could say that Altair's inner conscience came into play here. Sa'ida was blamed for something he did, so he felt a little guilty. And also, I look at the guards of the cities of Syria as enemies of Altair, since in his Eagle Vision they are red. Therefore, I do believe they pose a threat. But I do see where Altair could be overreacting and I will work on it :). I appreciate the review and I hope you enjoy this Chapter!

_**Designation Drift: **_Thanks! It's good to know the characters are, well, in character; I sometimes fret over whether I captured their personalities correctly or not. And a _Transformers_ fan? I do believe we share the same fandom interests then ^_^. Thanks for the review and please, enjoy the new update. :)

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed in any form or blade. I only own my OCs (Sa'ida Basilah, Ghalib Basilah, Fahdah Ishraq, and 'Azab). Credit goes to DecepticonShadowfire for helping me with Sa'ida's name._**

* * *

**Chapter IV:**

**Assassination**

_"Make the best use of what is in your power, and take the rest as it happens." -Epictetus_

* * *

The day was hot, a warm breeze weaving through the clay buildings and slender palm trees, making the day even more uncomfortable. A few unlucky souls were caught in the heat as they worked and guards huffed in irritation, wanting to be anywhere than outside in the dreaded heat. Indeed, it was a miserable day for just about everyone within Damascus' walls.

Near the very center of Damascus sat a single-story building with an airy lattice rooftop and a weatherworn symbol marking its exterior, hidden away from the citizens' prying eyes. The symbol, however, meant very little to the people except for a few choice souls who belonged to the group who bore the symbol. And Altair was one of those choice souls.

The former Master Assassin sat in a nest of pillows underneath the latticework rooftop, examining his gleaming sword. The bloodstains from yesterday's battle were completely washed away from its surface and it was shining once again. He ran his thumb over the sword's sharp edge all the way down to its pointed tip, than ran it down the opposite side. Its edges were still keen, making it perfectly suitable for a fiery swordfight if one should ensue. However, Altair doubted this. With stealth on his side, he could easily dispatch of Tamir with a single thrust of his hidden blade and then escape before the guards took notice. Then it was off to Masyaf to report his success to Al Mualim and then back on the rode to find the next target. A long but necessary process.

Altair swung the blade testily through the air in a downwards motion, than repeated the process in the opposite direction. He was deep in thought. What he was thinking about, however, he wasn't quite sure himself. His mind did a rare thing: it wondered. Sometimes he would settle upon a thought and consider it momentarily; but then, he just shoved it to the side and moved on the next thought in line. And the worst part was that it was the same thoughts resurfacing over and over again. He would go over Tamir's assassination and consider the possibilities; then he would mull over how much progress he needed to accomplish before his rank was restored; and finally, he would muse over yesterday's battle. A constant loop that frustrated Altair to no end.

Not only was it frustrating, the last thought seemed out of place. That battle was over and won and needed no further consideration, unless he was missing something. No, there was nothing; simply a kind deed to settle his conscience. The guards were dead, save for one who ran; he had thoroughly frightened the man who had declared the accusation; and the woman was safe. Perhaps a bit shocked, but she was safe and that was what mattered. So why did the thought gnaw at him?

Without warning, the sword slipped from Altair's palm and landed with a noisy clatter onto the ground. The former Master Assassin stared accusingly at the blade for a moment before snatching it up once again and shoving it into its sheath with a sharp _shing_. To Altair's relief, his monotonous train of thought was broken and he was brought back to reality. From the opposite room, odd shuffling noises could be heard before the door to aforementioned room opened, revealing an optimistic Rafiq.

"Ah, Altair! Good morning, good morning. I was sure you would be off by now to claim your target's life," the Rafiq greeted as he propped the door open and ventured back into his respective room. It would never cease to amuse Altair how the Rafiq seemed to take death so…lightly. Rising, Altair wondered over to the open door, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms over his chest as he watched the Rafiq return to his work. Judging by the work already strewn out in front of him, the Rafiq had been up longer than Altair had originally thought.

"Tamir will not make an appearance until later in the afternoon," Altair informed the other man impatiently.

"Then perhaps you could rid the area of rooftop guards, examine the layout, plan an advantage point and escape-"

"I have already prepared myself," Altair snapped. "I know when to strike and what execution will better benefit me. I have four possible escape routes memorized as well."

"And the guards? Have you found routes around them, or perhaps disposed a few of them?" the Rafiq asked coolly, glancing up only once to look into the shadows of Altair's hood. The former Master Assassin began to answer, then closed his mouth in brief hesitation. When he found his voice once again, he spoke confidently:

"My escape will go unnoticed."

It didn't truly answer the question, but seemed to suffice because the Rafiq only nodded his head in acknowledgement. Altair lingered in the doorway for a few minutes longer in unnerving silence, continuing to watch the Rafiq work until he grew restless. He left the doorway without another word to the Rafiq and made his way to the far wall. Once there, he shinnied up the wall with practiced ease until he reached the square opening in the latticework. His head poked through and he scanned his surroundings. Peaceful and smoldering hot. Nothing unusual. He hoisted the rest of himself through the opening and faced the direction of his destination.

He rolled his shoulders a couple of times and flexed his fingers. Glancing down at the hidden blade bracer on his left forearm, he adjusted the straps and unsheathed and sheathed the blade until he was satisfied. With one last roll of his shoulders, Altair set off at a brisk jog across the rooftops with the sun beating down on his white robes and the red sash trailing behind him. The clay, two-story dwellings remained relatively level with only the occasional gap between them which he easily leapt across. Surprisingly, everything seemed so…calm.

_The calm before the storm_, Altair reminded himself solemnly.

* * *

That afternoon Altair found himself at the souk where Tamir would be arriving at to receive his 'merchandise.' He slipped down a crevice between two adjacent dwellings, landing in an awkward crouch. Straightening, he slowly made his way down the narrow alleyway until he reached the exit and stepped out into the open. It was decently crowded, especially in the center of the souk where a square reservoir sat with a wooden covering shading the area. The stone benches were crowded and citizens bumped into each other as they tried to find a spot in the shade.

Altair wandered around the souk casually as he waited for his target to make his arrival. As he did so, he examined the rooftops, taking note of any watchful archers that could be on patrol. There were three. One paced back and forth on the two-story building to the west; the other two archers stood warily at the souk's northeast entrance, gazing down at the citizens from their three-story perches.

Shifting his gaze, Altair then examined the crowd around him for guards. There was group of three that guarded the bustling east entrance, making citizens eye them warily as they passed. Any other guards were weaving through the crowds by themselves, hands on the hilt of their swords.

Altair found a seat on a stone bench pressed close to the wall of a tall building, its shade providing another means of escaping the dreadful heat. His escape to the northeast was no longer an option, so that left Altair with his remaining three. He would also need to uphold caution with the multiple guards that roamed the souk. Just a mere suspicion from a single guard could result in disaster for Altair. But first, he needed to dispose of the target before he began worrying of an escape.

As he waited, Altair couldn't help but think of the horrendous possibility of that curious woman showing up in the wrong place at the wrong time once again. It caused enough problems the first time; Altair didn't want a second go-round. The thought made a faint, grim smile cross his lips.

"Your men failed to fill the order, which means I have failed my client!" a male's enraged voice exclaimed over the din of the crowd. Altair lifted his gaze to see two men enter from the west entrance. The man who spoke was finely dressed in luxurious red and gold robes and his face was contorted and slightly red in anger. The second man who followed close behind was much simpler in comparison, wearing simple, pale brown robes; his bearded features held that of irritancy and slight concern and panic.

"We need more time…" the second man expressed, almost pleading.

"This is the excuse of a lazy or incompetent man. Which are you?" the first asked, turning to face the imposing man once he reached the shaded center of the souk.

"Neither," the second retorted.

Altair stood from his sitting position and ventured towards the two arguing men, pushing the staring citizens out of his path. He was confident this finely dressed man was none other than Tamir himself. His target.

"What I see says otherwise…" Tamir said lowly. "Now, tell me: what do you intend to do to solve this problem of ours? These weapons are needed _now_."

The still unnamed man splayed his hands before him in an exasperated gesture. "I see no solution. My men work day and night, but your _client_ requires so much. And the destination" - he shook his head - "it is a difficult road."

At that, Tamir glowered. "Were it that you could produce weapons with the same skill you produce excuses!"

"I've done all I can," the second man gave-in, his expression bland as he stared into Tamir's dark and foreboding gaze. By now, a large crowd had gathered around the two arguing men, whispering and chattering amongst themselves as they watched. Altair stood at the ready, peering over the heads of the small group of people that stood between him and Tamir.

"It is _not enough_," Tamir growled.

"Then perhaps you ask too much." And with that, the second man began to walk away with Tamir staring holes into his back. He did not get far, however, before Tamir spoke again in a dangerously low voice.

"_Too much?_ I gave you _everything_! Without me, you would still be charming serpents for coin." Here, Tamir sneered in open mockery before continuing. "All I asked for in return was that you fill the orders I bring you; and you say I ask _too much_?" Tamir leaned over close and spit in the second man's face, causing the opposing man to cower away in fear and concern. "How dare you disrespect me?"

"Please, Tamir…I meant no insult…" the second man pleaded, voice quavering. Whatever bravery he once had was now gone. Altair shoved past the remaining citizens that stood in front of him so he could have a clear path to Tamir when the time to strike dawned.

"Then you should have kept your _mouth shut_." With a single, quick movement, Tamir unsheathed a dagger and cut the cowering man clean across his abdomen. Citizens shrunk back in utter terror, a few shrieks emitting from the surrounding women. However, there was nothing Altair could do for this man; Tamir had him trapped.

"No, please, stop!" the injured man cried, grasping at the fresh wound as the blood began to soak through his robes. His gaze held fear and regret as he stared up at his attacker.

"Stop?" Tamir chuckled darkly. "I'm just getting started." Tamir continued his assault with renewed vigor and wicked amusement. Slash after slash; relentless and disturbing and horrid. Blood flew and feminine shrieks increased as the scene played out. Yet Altair watched, his emotions not fluctuating once; although, he found himself veering his gaze away from the bloodshed, listening to Tamir as he yelled at the dying man before him. "You come into _my_ souk, stood before _my _men, and you dare to insult _me_?" The slashes turned to forceful stabs through the man's back. Repeatedly, and Altair heard each time the blade struck flesh. He counted a total of six impacts before the man tumbled into the reservoir. Altair lifted his gaze in time to see the life dissipate from the man's eyes and watch as his blood stained the once crystal clear water.

A servant steps forward to take care of the savaged body, but Tamir pushes aforementioned servant back with his free hand. "Leave the body." He then turned his hateful gaze upon the large crowd of people that surrounded the reservoir. "Let this be a lesson to the rest of you. Think twice before you tell me something cannot be done… Now get back to work!" And just like that, the crowd thinned and the people went about their business.

Tamir walked away from the dead body, his back turned to the imposing threat behind him. His mistake. Altair pushed the people that now swarmed his path, jogging towards his target, his hidden blade arm drawn back and ready to strike. With his path cleared, Altair sprinted forward, unsheathed his hidden blade, pounced, and let his blade sink into the neck of his target.

_**-o-**_

The world around them seemed to dissolve and time slowed to a stop. Altair slowly lowered Tamir's body to the ground, blood trailing from the wound on the Templar's neck and onto Altair's gloved hand.

"Be at peace…" Altair murmured as he kneeled beside his downed target.

"You'll pay for this," was Tamir's answer, although his voice held no anger, no hatred. It was filled with regret. "You, and all your kind."

Altair dismissed Tamir's words. "It seems you're the one who pays now, my friend. You will not profit from suffering any longer."

Tamir shook his head in disgust. "You think me some petty death-dealer, suckling at the breast of war?! A strange target, don't you think? Why me, when so many others do the same?"

"You believe yourself different then?" It was more of a conclusion than a question.

"Oh, but I am, for I serve a far nobler cause than mere profit. Just like my brothers…" A faint smile crossed Tamir's lips, a thoughtful look flashing across his eyes.

Altair canted his head. "Brothers?"

At that, Tamir's smile widened to a grin that drew a frown to Altair's own features. "Ah, but he thinks I act alone." Tamir shakes his head slowly. "I am but a piece; a man with a part to play. You'll come to know the others soon enough. They won't take kindly to what you've done."

"Good." The word came out with bitterness, anger, and a touch of misplaced pride. "I look forward to ending their lives as well."

Tamir exhaled laboriously. "Such pride…it will destroy you, child…" And with that, Tamir's life slipped away into the cold embrace of death. Altair laid him down gently, taking the white feather from his pouch and swiped it across Tamir's neck wound. The scarlet-colored blood ruined the pristine white of the feather. Altair returned the feather to his pouch before standing and turning his back to the dead man, the world slowly coming back into focus once again.

**_-o-_**

Altair found himself in the center of attention, much to his dismay. At first, it was silence as the people slowed to a stop once again and tried to puzzle out what had happened. Then realization struck and a petite woman screamed, causing the entire souk to erupt into chaos. The patrolling guards charged forward, swords drawn and curses leaving their lips. Altair turned sharply and ran fast and hard towards the alley he had used to enter the souk earlier. The main exits were no doubt blocked, the guards anticipating the murderer to escape that way. How foolishly wrong. He adjusted his position so he was sideways, making it easier to slip into the alley. Behind him, guards hollered and armor clinked and clacked as they sought pursuit, but Altair never glanced back at them. _Just keep going. Never look back or slow down until you are positive you have lost your pursuers_, Altair remembered.

He reached the exit of the alley and stepped out onto the wide street, veering right at a sprint and staying close to the dwellings that lined aforementioned street. Citizens looked to him in confusion, wisely stepping out of his way lest they wanted to be trampled. Quick footsteps echoed behind him, and Altair sought out an alternative route once again. Improvising, he clambered up a mound of loosely stacked crates and then scampered up the wall of the adjacent building. Along the rooftop he went until he reached a beam that stretched across the street below and touched the opposing clay dwellings. Not hesitating, he placed foot-over-foot until he reached the other side. He then ran the length of the rooftop and climbed down the other side, his boots thumping lightly once he reached the bottom.

His chest moved up and down rapidly as he drew in deep breaths, his sharp eyes scanning for a place to blend in to until the guards ceased their search. Already, the church bell begin to toll, alerting the town of Tamir's death. The Bureau was still a ways away, and the guards of the city would be on the lookout for any suspicious characters; and his hooded, well armed demeanor would not help his case.

Further down the rode, Altair could see a small garden positioned awkwardly between two towering three-story housing units. Perfect.

* * *

Sa'ida couldn't help but feel frightened and relieved once she heard the tolling church bell.

That day, Fahdah, herself, and their fellow dancers were supposed to attend a party in the rich district; but, due to the intense heat, it was called off. Fahdah had then somehow convinced Sa'ida to join her in her 'favorite' garden to have a little 'chat' since they had no other parties to attend. Sa'ida was reluctant at first, but eventually agreed after some persistent pleading.

However, their simple 'chat' quickly turned for the worst; for Sa'ida. Apparently, word had traveled about the middle district - as well as parts of the rich and poor districts - of her arrest yesterday. Fahdah then began to pester Sa'ida with question upon how she dealt with the guards and how was she released. Not many who are arrested ever are released. In turn, Sa'ida sheepishly told Fahdah about the man in the white hood and how he had assisted her in her predicament. And, as soon as the tale was finished, Fahdah turned the mysterious man into some…secret admirer vigilante…and began to ask every question she could formulate about him; much to Sa'ida's irritancy.

"How tall was he?"

"I suppose he was a half a head taller than I…"

"What did he look like?"

"I don't know. His face was hidden by his hood."

A wide and excited grin. "Oh, so he's the mysterious type… Was he strong?"

"He took down four armed men."

A giggle. "Did he say anything to you? What was his voice like?"

A frustrated sigh. "Deep. Emotionless. Hard. Is that good enough?"

A contemplated look. "Seems like you have quite the man there."

"Fahdah, he simply helped me in a time of need. I do not know him, neither does he know me, and I highly doubt he has a sliver of attraction to me. Besides, having a man like that…I would be on edge constantly. He would be a hard man to love period."

"Denial…"

"Fahdah!"

The conversation ended with Fahdah smiling and laughing and claiming Sa'ida was blushing, causing the shy woman to tug her hood over her face. This wasn't funny to her. She saw that man _kill_ four guards, saw the blood splattered upon the pavement, watch the life slip away from those guards' eyes. She was terrorized by the hooded man, wondering what type of man was hidden in those shadows. Fahdah probably imagined some handsome hero, but Sa'ida imagined a cold, hard man that had no desire but to murder. She may be thankful for what he did for her, but she had no desire to meet him again.

It was then, when Fahdah was just about to ask another series of questions, that the thunderous toll of the bell rang through Damascus. Both Sa'ida and Fahdah looked around, as if they would find their answers within the cool and peaceful garden. Mentally, Sa'ida counted the number of rings between each pause. Three; there were three frantic tolls. Normally the bell didn't ring that number of times unless declaring someone's death. Or murder.

The other citizens that also resided within the garden rose from their seats and went to the entrance of the garden to see what the commotion was about, open fear and curiosity in their eyes. Sa'ida and Fahdah followed suit and made their way to join the group. Once they reached the rear of the gathering, they began to gently push their way through to get a better view, occasionally standing on their tiptoes in an attempt to improve their vision. However, they didn't get far before Sa'ida bumped into a figure walking in the opposite direction.

Embarrassed, Sa'ida glanced up so she could apologize; but the words were caught in her throat as she was met with the shadow of a hood. It was _him_. They stood there, staring at each other in utter silence, only to be interrupted with Fahdah bumping into Sa'ida's back. Fahdah glanced over her friend's shoulder to see the man that stood before them; and that's when the realization dawned.

"Isn't that the man who-"

"Yes," Sa'ida interrupted. He only stared, like he was mesmerized, sending chills down Sa'ida's spine. Beyond the remaining civilians that stood in front of them, Sa'ida could hear the clanking of armor. Guards. Should she report this man? It couldn't be a coincidence that she ran into him once again, here and now. Was he following her? The thought frightened her to no end.

But, before she could even take a step forward, she felt a rough, calloused hand wrap around her elbow and pulled her back into the garden. He used his other hand to pull Fahdah along as well.

"What are you-"

"Just stay calm," the mysterious man responded, deep voice the same as she last remembered it. Hard and emotionless.

"So you can kill us?" Sa'ida practically hissed, causing one older woman to eye them warily. The man released his grip, wrapped his arm around Sa'ida's shoulders, and brought his hand around to cup it around her mouth. That set off alarms in Sa'ida's head as her heart picked up the pace, beating loud within her chest.

He led them to the bench Sa'ida and Fahdah had sat at earlier. They sat down with him in the middle, Sa'ida on his left, and Fahdah on his right. He removed his hand from Sa'ida's mouth and murmured, "Relax. Try to blend in." He paused, then added, "Act as though I were your man."

The suggestion didn't make Sa'ida relax; rather, it increased her stress and tension. How could she act like she loved this man? _Why_ would he want her too in the first place? Sa'ida glanced over at Fahdah, who was trying to do as she was told. If Sa'ida didn't know any better, she probably would've been fooled. Fahdah let her flirtatious side take over, and the mysterious hooded man quirked his scarred lips in a - do doubt - forced smile.

Back towards the group, a couple of guards were searching amongst them, asking questions that Sa'ida could not hear. They were looking for somebody; no doubt whoever just killed that poor soul…then it struck her. He was the killer. Of course he was! Why else would he want Fahdah and herself to act this way? _Try to blend in_, he had said.

He must have taken notice in her increased tension, and he shifted, leaning down close so he could whisper in her ear, "I am not going to harm you. But if you do not relax and act as if nothing is wrong, then all three of us will be caught; and the end results will not forebode well…" - another pause - "You do owe me a favor for saving your life yesterday." His warm breath brushed against her cheek and a shudder ran through her body.

As much as she hated to do any favors for this man, he was right. She at least owed him something for what he did for her yesterday. Not only that, she didn't want Fahdah or herself being dragged into _his_ mess. Resentfully, she relaxed, and slowly sank back into his warmth while her mind flashed warnings and screamed how foolish she was to help him. In response, he tightened his arm around her shoulders and flashed her a ghost of a smile; a smile she openly ignored.

A good ten minutes went by before the footsteps of the guards finally diminished and the group of curious civilians went about their own business. It was then that Sa'ida pushed away from the hooded man's embrace and got to her feet. He seemed mildly shocked, but he did not attempt to pull her back. He only retracted his arm away from Fahdah and stood slowly, standing tall and proud above Sa'ida.

He started to leave, but Sa'ida called after him in a low voice. "You killed a man, didn't you? That's why you needed us. To become inconspicuous."

He paused and looked over his shoulder. Sa'ida caught a glimpse of amber-colored eyes. "Perhaps." Then he continued forward without another word. His silence grinded against Sa'ida's nerves.

Sa'ida looked over at Fahdah. She still seemed a little shaken and confused over what just transpired, but she seemed to be holding up for the moment. Sa'ida then glanced back so she could ask the hooded man another question, but he was nowhere to be found within the garden. She blinked a couple times in surprise before she strode to the entrance and looked up and down the street. Nothing but a few wandering souls.

He was gone.

* * *

**A/N: **And...scene! Altair mysteriously disappears...nothing unusual here. Also, Tamir's life comes to an end; a fate that awaits his Templar brothers as well... And Sa'ida remains confused and infuriated with Altair. Wonder what could happen next...knowing me, anything. In fact, I never really planned the part with Sa'ida, Fahdah, and Altair...I have no clue where that came from, but I like it. But, most importantly, I hope y'all enjoyed this awfully late Chapter! Please let me know what you think by R&R.

Until next time...


	5. Chapter 5: Thinking in Circles

**Author's Note: **Yes, an early update! Although, I feel like this Chapter is more like a filler; but it is still essential nevertheless. I want to thank the awesome followers, favorites, and reviewers of this story. The support is amazing! ^^ Hope y'all enjoy the Chapter!

**Reply to Reviews:**

_**Sera22: **_Thank you for the review! Also, I do wish that the game had more 'disappearing options'. Something to get you a little more involved, y'know? Eh, it's still a great game either way. ;) Hope you enjoy!

_**Victory Goddess: ** _Glad you're enjoying the story so far, and I appreciate the review. Hope this Chapter is just as good. :)

_**Guest (Finally! A story...): ** _Thanks for the review, and I hope not to disappoint!

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed in any form or blade. I only own my OCs (Sa'ida, Ghalib, Fahdah, and 'Azab). Credit goes to Seventhfold (formerly known as DecepticonShadowfire) for helping me with Sa'ida's name.**_

* * *

**Chapter V:**

**Thinking in Circles**

"_We are a part of the same play, We think we're making our own way, Circling […] Round and round." - Imagine Dragons, "Round and Round"_

* * *

Sa'ida entered her simple household, pushing the door closed behind her as silently and quickly as possible. Once the wooden door was shut, she exhaled the breath she had been holding in and leaned heavily against the doorframe. Finally, she was home; safe within the confines of the dwelling she called home. And, for some odd reason, she was happy that dusk had settled upon Damascus and the once blue sky was now inky darkness. The utter blackness gave her some peace, somehow; although, who knows what could be hidden in the darkest corners or the deepest of shadows.

After a few more moments of regaining her composure, Sa'ida pushed herself away from the entrance and went to work, closing the curtains and lighting the fire. The warm glow from the hearth gave the room a sense of comfort that Sa'ida was thankful for. Her mind felt weary, confused, and twisted as she tried to wrap her head around the _second_ time she had encountered that strange man. The first time they had met, she had been willing to let the event slide and try not to probe at the man's secret identity nor his business here in Damascus. Now? _Now_ she _had_ to know. Or, at least that's what her mind wanted to figure out. These happenstance meetings, killings, interactions, secrets…it had her head spinning madly.

This second, seemingly coincidental meeting with the mysterious hooded man just felt so…wrong? Purposeful? Strange? Sa'ida couldn't find the correct word to describe the predicament. The entire event had had her heart pounding and her mind racing. Yet, at no point in time did she feel truly threatened or endangered. Fearful, yes; but endangered, strangely not. She had been at the hands of a killer - possibly an assassin, if that one guard's words were true - but the feeling of danger hadn't crossed her mind; only numbing fear.

But, if she didn't feel threatened by this man, then what was she afraid of? Dying? Maybe, but the hooded man never truly threatened to kill her, and he didn't act like he was going to after the guards had left. Perhaps he just had an aura about him that struck fear into any that intervened in his path. That was certainly something Sa'ida would believe. He was intimidating both in appearance and in personality.

Sa'ida took a few steps away from the now crackling fire. The fiery embers glowed in hues of red, orange, and yellow; and the heat they emitted washed over Sa'ida. To think, that simple, little fire sparked a memory of its own in her mind. That same heat reminded her of the man's warm breath against her cheek as he whispered gently: _"You do owe me a favor for saving your life yesterday."_ The fresh memory still sent shivers down her spine, as if the man was standing there right now, speaking those exact same words to her once again. The thought startled her and she quickly turned her head to the right to see if it was true or just simply her imagination. Her hazel eyes saw nothing but an empty spot beside her, much to her relief.

However, the moment of relief quickly passed.

A sudden, loud clatter from the opposing room yanked Sa'ida from her eschewed memories. She hurried to the other room, her eyes filled with concern as she immediately directed them towards the mattress her father laid upon day and night. However, the mattress was empty, save for a tangled mess of blankets and a lopsided pillow. Renewed worry filled her as her eyes roved the room until finally landing upon the dark figure in the far corner, sitting awkwardly on the floor. A small, round, lightweight table had been tipped over next to the figure, the pot that had been resting on its surface now lying on the floor in pieces.

"_Abba_!" Sa'ida cried as she rushed over to the hunched figure, kneeling down so she could be eye-level. The figure that was her father waved his hand dismissively as he let his head rest against the wall.

"I am perfectly fine, _azeezee_; no need to worry. It was only an accident," Ghalib rasped. He slowly, but surely, pushed himself back to his feet, Sa'ida at his side, helping him up with a disapproving frown on her face. They were careful to avoid the shards that were strewn across the floor as they traveled the length of the room to the old mattress. Ghalib eased himself down onto aforementioned mattress before waving Sa'ida away once again. "I'm fine," he reassured Sa'ida once again, a slight twinkle in his eye as he met her gaze.

"What were you thinking?" Sa'ida demanded, her voice quavering every so slightly. "Do you want to add injury to your illness as well?"

Ghalib shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Ah, but don't you see, Sa'ida? When was the last time you seen me walk? Stand upright on my own two feet? I am making progress; I may be able to vanquish this sickness yet."

Sa'ida paused to consider that fact. Her father hadn't walked in what felt like ages. Sure, he had taken quite the tumble on his attempt, but he still took his first steps after a few, long months.

"Is this your first attempt?" Sa'ida asked slowly as she began the process of cleaning up the broken glass, careful to not cut herself on the sharp shards. From the corner of her eye, she saw her father nod once before lying back down.

"First time in a long while," he murmured.

They fell into a deep silence, the only noise emitting from Sa'ida has she shuffled about the room, returning it to its former neatness. Soon, the glass was swept away and the table was upright once more; but this time, Sa'ida did not put anything on its surface, just in case her father decided to attempt another walking session. After that, she left her father to prepare the evening meal, returning to him half an hour later to present his food to him. She took a seat at the newly righted table. That's when the unsettling silence was broken by his raspy, but deep voice.

"I heard the church bell ringing today. Three tolls. Someone has passed this afternoon."

Sa'ida chewed on her lower lip as she stared absentmindedly at her own meal. Memories resurfaced, flashing through her mind before disappearing just as quickly as they had arrived. "A man was _murdered_," she corrected. She could feel her father's gaze on her at those words.

"Murdered…" he mused to himself. "Do you know who he was? Or how this came to be?"

Sa'ida shook her head. "The only news that was passed on to me was that a man was murdered. I know nothing else." It wasn't _fully_ a lie. She wasn't sure _who _died; and the hooded man had never truly admitted to killing anyone. "Fahdah and I were in the gardens when the bell began to ring." She paused, hesitant to share the next tidbit of information. "I met a man today, too."

"Oh," Ghalib said knowingly, a sly smile spreading across his aging features. "I see. Do I know him?"

"No. I hardly know him. He hasn't even shared his name." Sa'ida frowned. "We've met twice, and he hasn't exactly made a good first impression."

"How so?"

"It's…complicated. _He's _complicated."

Ghalib chuckled weakly. "I'm afraid that's a common trait men share. Your mother would have said the same of me in our younger days… And secretly, I thought the same of her at times, you know."

"But you worked through it; complications and all," Sa'ida concluded. Sa'ida remembered the stories her father used to tell during her childhood. She had always asked him about how he and her mother met, or have him recount some special moment between them. The stories stuck and she now knew them by heart.

"When you love somebody, it's hard to let them go," her father said quietly, giving Sa'ida another knowing look.

She ignored that look, staring down at her food distastefully. "If you are implying that I love him, I can assure you that I'm not." She paused, a downcast look dawning on her features. "There is nothing _to_ love."

By the next morning, Tamir's death had been forgotten. The citizens of Damascus moved about their day, not sparing a single thought to the black market merchant.

However, nobody could say the same of 'Azab Junaid.

The exuberant merchant kept recounting the experience as he stood in the shade of his stand. He had been there that day to watch the events unfold; he was suppose to, anyhow. Who else would keep tabs on Altair's assassination duties within Damas' walls? The Rafiq only knew when the bell tolled and when the former Master Assassin brought back the bloodied feather; he never actually _saw_ the assassination take place. So, 'Azab decided to make himself useful and watch from a distance. It was irony, really, that the arrogant and _skilled_ Altair had no idea that one of his own Brothers was observing him and his work - in plain sight, no less.

But, aside from that, 'Azab had to give the man some credit. He knew when and how to strike. Of course, 'Azab would have chosen a totally different approach to the situation; a little more…creativity, you could say, but Altair got the job done. To bad he missed the chase. Altair could slip away from almost any situation at hand. Almost.

Chuckling to himself, 'Azab began to shift some crates around and out of his way. He needed to make himself a larger stand, if he ever got to it. Probably not. He's been telling himself that everyday for the past four months and he still hasn't done a thing about the cramped stand. It would remain the same for a few more months, no doubt.

After the last of the crates were situated, 'Azab gazed forlornly at the long, narrow, dusty crate that remained. Hidden beneath supplies, 'Azab had kept his most prized possessions locked away from any prying eyes or snatching hands. He looked from side-to-side casually, making sure nobody was paying him any heed, before kneeling down and shoving the lid halfway off the elongated crate. Through the opening, the merchant could see pristine, folded robes; undamaged armor; a sheathed dagger; and his favorite, the sheathed sword that ran the length of the crate. If only he could remove the blade and wield it once more. Become the swordsman he once was…

"'Azab?"

He jumped, surprised that someone had managed to sneak up on him. Under normal circumstances, he could hear the sound of footsteps approaching, or the occasional inhale and exhale of air, or even the ruffling of clothing. No wonder he keeps that sword hidden; it distracts him too easily.

Rising from his kneeling position, 'Azab closed the crate and dusted his hands off. He turned on his heel with a welcoming smile on his features, only to be met with the timid face of Sa'ida Basilah. The woman was clothed in her usual garb, the brown robes wrapped about her and the hood pulled over her head. Her hazel gaze landed upon the crate that 'Azab had just been looking through, a thoughtful look dawning on her features. 'Azab quickly stepped to the side, blocking the crate from sight.

"Miss Basilah! How is my favorite customer this morning?" 'Azab greeted, trying to keep the shy woman's mind away from the crate behind him. It seemed to work as she blinked a couple of times before meeting his gaze and smiling in greeting. However, the smile was not genuine; more forced. Something was bothering her. "Everything alright?"

"Quite," she clipped. "I just saw your stand was open early, so I wanted to pay a visit while I'm here."

"I am always early. Beat the other merchants here; get more sales. You know that," 'Azab chided lightly. He rubbed his bearded chin thoughtfully. "Where are you headed off to, might I ask?"

"Nowhere in particular," was the short, dull answer.

"Is there something I can do you for you?"

There was a long pause as Sa'ida lapsed into silence, staring pass 'Azab and looking at some unseen object. He noticed that she was wringing her hands ceaselessly; obviously, something was nagging at her. But he didn't question further, only waited for her to reply to his previous inquiry.

Finally, she asked, "What was in that crate you were going through?" There was the Sa'ida he knew. For a shy woman, she was quite nosy.

"Ah, just some old memories. Things I will never use again probably." 'Azab shrugged.

"Are you planning on selling them?"

"Of course not!" 'Azab exclaimed. "They may be old and unused, but I wouldn't trade them in for a mountain of gold." He paused. "Although, a mountain of gold would be quite tempting."

Sa'ida smiled faintly. "Then why would you bring them along? Don't they take up more space? I thought you wanted _more_ room in your stand?" She quirked her eyebrow slightly, a questioning glint in her eyes. 'Azab glanced over his shoulder at the crate, filled with old memories before he was sent to Damascus. Why did he drag those things around with him? Was he afraid someone would find them if they weren't under his watchful eye? Maybe. He normally took extra precaution when it came to his most prized artifacts and possessions. But, there was also this little part of him that hoped that, one day, he could wear those robes again, slip the armor back on, and utilize his weapons one more time. A foolish dream, but one he clung to.

'Azab stuck his chin out slightly, proclaiming, "I never know when I will need them again. I keep them nearby in case something goes wrong."

Sa'ida hummed, stopping her hand wringing and now twiddling her thumbs. She was driving 'Azab mad with her obsessive hand movements. Couldn't she just _tell_ him what had her so anxious? Was it any of his business? Wouldn't hurt to ask, right?…No, he wasn't asking. Sa'ida had the freedom to share what was on her mind with him or not.

"So how's the old man doing? Better, I hope?" 'Azab asked as he resorted the items splayed on the table before him.

"Yes, actually." Sa'ida perked up to this news. "He's starting to get back on his feet. Took quite a tumble last night on his first attempt, though."

"Good, good! That is wonderful news indeed, Sa'ida," 'Azab said kindly. "It would be nice to see your father in person. I've heard rumors he used to be one of the most-"

"'Azab, do you know who was murdered yesterday?" Sa'ida blurted out, interrupting 'Azab mid-sentence. "All the news I have received of the incident are broken and unconfirmed." 'Azab stared at her with open shock, causing the shy woman to stammer as she continued. "I know, it is a strange question, but-"

"There is no need to explain yourself, my girl," 'Azab assured her after a quick recovery. _Is this what she has been mulling upon?_ 'Azab wondered to himself. He wouldn't think that a woman like Sa'ida would be so concerned over something like this. "Indeed, I know who passed yesterday. His name was Tamir. I wouldn't expect you to know him, though." The merchant shrugged, placing his palms on the table's surface and leaning against it heavily.

Sa'ida stopped her monotonous hand movements, another thoughtful frown tugging at her lips. At least 'Azab was able to satisfy her in some way and stop her fidgeting; although, he still didn't understand why she was so interested in the black market merchant's death. Maybe it was her curiosity getting the best of her again, but 'Azab still felt like it meant something else. Something deeper. Something she wasn't telling him.

"What has you asking?" 'Azab inquired innocently, studying Sa'ida carefully. However, she ignored the question completely, and instead asked yet another question.

"Who killed him?"

Silence. A tense silence that was almost tangible; at least, in 'Azab's point of view. His blood felt like it turned to ice, and any answer he had was stuck in his throat. _Who killed him?_ To any normal citizen, the question would seem absolutely innocent; just curiosity, wanting to know who committed such a crime. But to 'Azab? It rang alarms. It made him feel tense and jittery at the same time. It made his fist clench thin air, longing for the feel of the hilt of his sword within his grip.

"I'm afraid I do not know," 'Azab replied steadily. "Why?"

"No reason. Just seems awful for someone to kill another man." There goes the hand wringing again. She was hiding something. She _knew_, and 'Azab was confident about that.

Swallowing hard and smiling sadly, he said, "It is. But, life must go on. Now, if you will kindly excuse me, I have some duties to fulfill. Take care, my girl."

"To you as well." After saying her farewell, Sa'ida nodded and walked away, tugging the hood further down over her features.

Meanwhile, with her back turned to him, 'Azab began cursing in every language he knew. _That idiot! That arrogant, inconsiderate, unskilled idiot!_ 'Azab thought angrily as he marched back in forth within the confines of his merchant stand. Passing citizens stared at him with concern, steering clear of his stand as he continued on with his silent rant.

Finally, after a few long minutes, 'Azab calmed down and let out a deep sigh. Perhaps he was overreacting; or not. He was sure - no, _absolutely confident_ - that Sa'ida _knew_ about Altair. Well, maybe not details; she probably just saw the arrogant, killer side of the Master Assassin. Oh, wait, that's probably his _only_ side. It wouldn't surprise 'Azab if so.

Either way, 'Azab had hoped that Altair would keep his interactions with Sa'ida to maximum of one; or, better yet, none. Yes, he was glad that Altair actually did something _unselfish _for once and helped Sa'ida with her predicament with the guards, but he didn't want her to become involved. However, thanks to Altair's carelessness and Sa'ida's curiosity, that was becoming very hard to stop. Sooner or later, Sa'ida would find out, and 'Azab had a feeling it would be when Altair returned to Damas. No doubt the Master Assassin still had unfinished business in the city; now 'Azab had to prevent him from messing anything else up.

_Inconsiderate novice…_ 'Azab concluded. He glanced over his shoulder one last time, staring hard and long at the elongated crate resting there. Looks like he would be wearing his old uniform after all. One more time.

* * *

**A/N: **Bet you didn't see that coming, did ya'? :) So 'Azab is more than just a mere merchant; he's also an assassin. *evil grin* And I know I didn't have Altair in this Chapter, but he will be the next one. Promise!

Thanks for reading and please R&R to let me know what you think!

Until next time...


	6. Chapter 6: Progress

**Author's Note: **Yes, I have returned with Chapter 6 of _Death by a Blade_. As promised, Altair is in this Chapter along with a bit more 'Azab; also, for a heads-up, this Chapter takes place roughly two months later. I calculated that the time it takes Altair to travel to a city (max of 5 days), find and kill his target (2-3 days), ride _back_ to Masyaf (another 5 days), and then a day of rest before his next trip would be a considerably long process. Plus, he did this with four targets so...yeah. Two months.

Anywho, I'm pretty shocked to see the amount of views/followers/favorites on this story; and we're just on chapter six. Just...wow. I didn't expect this response, especially for my first Assassin's Creed fic. I owe a big thanks to you guys; you're the ones that motivate me to continue with this story and not to give up.

**Reply to Reviews:**

_**Victory Goddess: ** _Don't worry: we haven't seen the last of Altair and Sa'ida's "accidental" run-ins ;). There's still more to come. And I appreciate the comment! Altair has always been my favorite assassin, so I want to make sure I nail him perfectly (or as close to perfect as possible).

And to answer your question, Sa'ida is an alternate spelling of Sa'dah, which means "happiness."

_**Designation Drift: **_Yeah, 'Azab wormed his way into this story; being a "minor" character just didn't seem to fit. I hope to keep the surprises coming...X)

_**DanAlaya: ** _More will be revealed upon 'Azab's origins; I promise! But it won't be till a little later...X). I'm glad you enjoyed the Chapter, and I hope this one lives up to your expectations :D

_**Sera22: **_It's good to hear you liked the Chapter! Hope you love this update as well!

_**Young Napoleon22: **_Thank you for the review and here is the next update! :)

_**xLadyxLionheartx: **_XD I'm glad to hear you're enjoying this tale so far. And, indeed, I stuck with my promise and put Altair into this Chapter, so no worries ;). Hope not to disappoint, and I also hope you enjoy this next Chapter. Thank you so much for the support. :)

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed in any form or blade; I only own my OCs (Sa'ida, Ghalib, Fahdah, and 'Azab). Credit goes to Seventhfold for helping me with Sa'ida's name.**_

* * *

**Chapter VI:**

**Progress**

"_Our grand business is not to see what lies dimly in the distance but to do what lies clearly at hand." Carlyle_

* * *

He swayed back and forth as he rode on his beige mare, the sun's rays bouncing off his stark white robes. His head was bowed, adding to the shadow that covered his features. One hand gripped the reins while the other hovered close to the hilt of sword, just in case it was needed. The red sash tied around his waist stirred in the wind and the hilts of his throwing knives winked in the sunlight. A strange, silent, deadly aura seemed to encase him, making passing travelers give him a wide berth.

However, despite his stoic demeanor, Altair was fighting an internal war.

Over the course of roughly two months, Altair had met relative success. Four out of nine men were dead because of his blade, and each one was met with praise from the Master and a rank restored to him. He should be gratified, he thought, for such benefits; that he was slowly but surely regaining what once was his. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. With each kill, he was supplied with a bit of knowledge from his targets before they passed; and each time, he was puzzled and laden with questions. It didn't help either that, whenever he tried to speak with Al Mualim about it, he was given riddles rather than answers.

So now, he was questioning himself upon why _these_ men had to die. They were connected, he knew that much from listening to there final words. Key words were repeated, like 'brothers' or 'the artifact' or 'our brotherhood.' They were part of something bigger; connected across the three cities; working in secret. However, Altair had yet to figure out for whom they were working for, and Al Mualim would share nothing.

The 'artifact' they spoke of, however, was another case. His suspicions were not confirmed, but Altair had a strong feeling it had to do with the 'treasure' from Solomon's Temple. True, the first time - and only time - Altair had seen this 'treasure,' it was merely a ornamentally decorated box with an odd aura about it. Whatever was inside - if anything - these men wanted it dearly, for whatever purpose they intended to use it for. Maybe that was the purpose behind these killings: to keep this 'treasure' away from the wrong hands…

No. This conclusion did not satisfy him.

Tamir, de Naplouse, Talal, de Montferrat - they all claimed they were doing good for the Holy Land; that their work would benefit the citizens of their respective cities. And, as much as it pained him to admit it, Altair saw their work - their antics - from both good and bad perspectives. De Naplouse and his _patients_ were a great example. The poor souls that were stuck within the Hospitalier's fortress appeared to be more like experiments than patients; and at least half the people looked deprived, helpless, _desperate_. Yet, there was the occasional man or woman that was grateful for de Naplouse's care; they were the ones that were given new hope, new cheer. So was the Hospitalier striving to do good after all? And what of the others? Was there really good intention hidden beneath their cruel acts? Altair still didn't have an answer, and it frustrated him. He was shrouded in mystery, almost to the point of dropping the mission and demanding answers from Al Mualim. If only he could…

Altair leaned forward slightly in his saddle, slowing his mare to casual walk as he passed by a strictly organized group of guards. They paid him no heed, directing their attention to their bristling leader. Once they passed and the leader's shouts were distant in Altair's ears, he nudged his horse back into a jostling trot.

He was on his way to find and kill his next target. Abu'l Nuqoud was his name; located in the city of Damas. Once again, Al Mualim shared little information upon the man, so that left him with only a name, a city, and a task. Even after four missions under similar circumstances, Altair still felt deprived of information.

Despite that, Altair could not help but snort as he remembered his last mission within Damascus' walls. His mission overall was a success, but how it played out seemed…hectic, yet amusing in its own way. His work in Acre and Jerusalem had felt so much simpler; easier, even. (Well, perhaps not Jerusalem. It felt like Altair was reliving a nightmare when he saw Malik at the Assassin's Bureau, missing an arm and full of scorn. It served only as a painful reminder of his failure). Damas, however, was a totally different case. Perhaps it could have been just as easy as the others if a particular woman had been subtracted from the equation.

Their first encounter, Altair had simply done a kind deed; corrected his mistake. She had been frightened, but thankful, and he had left without a trace. He did not pry into her business; he did not leave room for questioning…he left and let her think whatever she wanted of him. There was no need to get acquainted. He wasn't going to see her again, or even try to seek her out.

Then, there was their happenstance _second_ meeting.

Altair couldn't discern if he had been pleasantly surprised or completely mortified that he had found her in the gardens on the day of Tamir's assassination. Maybe both. Either way, he would've went around her, pretend she was any other citizen; but she knew _what_ he was - or, had a decent supposition. If she wanted to, she could summon the guards and point them in the right direction, and that was the last thing he wanted. So, she and her companion ended up being his disguise; although, they were less than pleased about it, especially the curious one. But, once again, he left them be and moved on after the guards had passed.

It almost amused him how the curious woman sought him out once he exited the gardens. Perhaps she wasn't as afraid of him as he had first thought.

His mare came to a stop, snorting and reaching down to munch at a small patch of grass. Altair raised his head from its bowed position and studied the city laid out before him. There, spread out before him in all its glory, was the city of Damascus, all but gleaming in the early afternoon sunshine.

_I wonder what awaits me in Damas this time around…_ Altair mused to himself.

* * *

_Snick_. Retract. _Snick_. Retract. _Snick_.

'Azab nodded his approval once he had tested his hidden blade. Despite the long two months he had been practicing with the contraption, 'Azab still struggled with the blade. He never truly liked the weapon and it hardly provided him the upper hand in any battle; no, he preferred a sword. _His_ sword. With it, he felt unrestricted, more powerful. No one could best him when he had his favored blade within his grasp and years of skill drilled into his head. He was a true swordsman.

Pushing aside the thought, 'Azab turned his attention to the wall stationed before him. He looked left and right, checking to make sure no other soul was wondering down the same alleyway. Nope. All was quiet. So, with a sharp inhale of breath, 'Azab began his ascent up the wall. He was never a good climber either; always slow to find hand- and footholds, and slipping every here and there. He honestly looked and felt like a lumbering oaf trying to climb any obstacle that was higher than his waist.

Nevertheless, 'Azab reached the top with limited difficulty. With a grunt, he hoisted himself onto the roof of the dwelling he just scaled and glanced around at his surroundings. 'Azab was amazed how much of a difference it was on the rooftops compared to the streets below. It was so much more…peaceful, open. Why did he ever stop traveling like this? Well, it might strike a citizen odd to see a merchant going from souk to souk by rooftop; _very _odd. However, pushing that aside, 'Azab felt a sense of accomplishment as he admired Damas from his point of view. The towers, the church steeples, the clay dwellings, the bustling crowds wondering the pathways, the sun casting its glorious rays…climbing may be a pain, but it was worth it once you saw the view.

Focusing once again, 'Azab mentally made a route across the unleveled rooftops towards the northernmost city gateway. It was a long run, but it provided an appropriate challenge for 'Azab. And so, he was off. Sprinting, jumping, hurdling, swiveling, rolling - all the moves tied together to form a perfect succession. It brought about a thrill - a lightness to his heart - that had him grinning like a fool as he picked up the pace. Crossing beams, leaping from roof to roof, maneuvering around obstacles, slipping past archers - why did he ever stop utilizing his assassin skills? Sure, being a merchant, he traveled a bit more and he collected rarities that dazzled anyone who looked upon them; but as an assassin, he felt more _free_. He felt as though nothing could hold him back; and that was something he valued more than any amount of money or any dusty artifact.

Soon, the gateway appeared before 'Azab, and he slowed, sides heaving. Perspiration was slick on his skin as he placed his hands on his knees and bent over. For the course he took, 'Azab did fairly well, but he wished he could go faster and longer without tiring. However, the terrible combination of lack-of-use and aging seemed to prohibit that possibility, much to his disappointment.

He exhaled, then stood straight once again so he could gaze down upon the wide entrance. The small space before the arching gateway wasn't nearly as busy as most souks and only a couple merchants were stationed there, looking incompetent as they reclined in the shade of their stands. Several guards were stationed at the gateway, hands on the hilts of their swords and looking attentive. Tall, three-story buildings (much like the one he was standing on) encircled the area while two pairs of archers patrolled from above. Upon seeing them, 'Azab squatted down and backed away from the edge, hoping to make himself less conspicuous. The last thing he wanted was a dozen arrows protruding from his chest.

So this was what it felt like to be an assassin again. An inner longing tugged at 'Azab's heart as he stared unfocusedly ahead. In his younger days, 'Azab had viewed life within the Brotherhood exciting. Nothing - absolutely nothing - had deterred his love to fight and the heart-pounding thrill of entering battle. He had had friends amongst the assassins' ranks and even in the village hidden in Masyaf's castle's shadow - whatever became of them? He was also proud to say he had found his lover within Masyaf's domain, although he never admitted his feelings to her.

All the memories seemed to lead back to a single question: why did he ever give up on that life? He never did have the _choice_ to leave Masyaf, no, but that didn't mean he had to _stop _being an assassin. It didn't mean he had to sheath his sword for years to come. And it certainly didn't mean he had to disconnect with his friends and family and the woman who was the light of his world. After departing from Masyaf, however, 'Azab _felt_ that way. He hasn't heard from Al Mualim in years - a telltale sign to him that he was obviously not wanted or he was forgotten - and any assassins that entered Damascus never recognized him - unless they were ignoring him deliberately. It was a disconnection that slowly led 'Azab to recoil from his assassin ways and lead a _different_ life. But now? _Now_, after reawakening his old training, he felt this irresistible tug to go back; something he was trying so hard to fight.

Sighing and rubbing his temples wearily, 'Azab decided he should return to the ground and don his former attire. That was enough training for today.

He slowly rose from his squatted position and began to turn on his heel when…

There. Something flashed out of the corner of his eye.

He whipped his head around so he could face the gateway once more. Nothing had changed. The crowds were still moving, the guards will still stiff and emotionless, the archers were still strolling along the rooftops…

Another flash, and this time 'Azab found the source. A group of scholars were moving listlessly through the crowds, heads bowed and hands clasped in prayer. There were five of them, all looking identical - except for the figure standing in their midst. Yes, he wore the same white robes and he wore a cowl over his features; but there was no missing the armor, the throwing knives' hilts, the sheathed sword…and the hidden blade underneath the left arm bracer that kept catching the light. It was these things that 'Azab came to realize that this was an assassin; one of his fellow brothers. And he looked all-too-familiar.

_Altair Ibn-La'Ahad…_, 'Azab concluded. He recognized the former Master Assassin from Tamir's assassination; he was a hard man to forget.

Coincidentally, 'Azab had been waiting for Altair to return to Damascus for the past two months. Only for Sa'ida's safety, though. That was the main reason he put those robes back on: so he could keep a better watch on the woman and make sure no more "accidental" meetings occur in the near future.

However, 'Azab never anticipated the utter _wanting_ to rejoin the Brotherhood. Two weeks into his retraining had sparked something within him; two more weeks passed and he anticipated his afternoon sessions; now, up to the present, he found it difficult to accept the reality of returning to his old merchant life and forfeiting his assassin's skills once again.

Every here and there, 'Azab would wonder if he could possibly return to Masyaf; to his brothers; to his…Master…

_No_, he firmly told himself, _I am not returning to false promise._

He returned to the present and glanced back down to the road below. He immediately spotted the white-robed scholars, but they were missing a particular hooded member. His blue gaze roamed around the entrance, looking for any sign of Altair. Nothing. It was like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

'Azab groaned, wanting to slap himself for loosing his concentration and Altair so easily. A novice mistake. An _incompetent _mistake. How could he make such a foolish move? Now he needed to relocate the former Master Assassin before he did something rash. Surely he didn't travel too far…Altair may be somewhat skilled, but he wasn't _that_ fast.

As 'Azab strode along the rooftops, searching both the street below and the surrounding roofs, a pop of white immediately grabbed his attention. There he was, hopping on top of the dwelling several hundred feet ahead of him and sprinting forward.

_A chase…just what I hoped for…_

* * *

Altair found himself wondering why he was even there. It was pointless, really, standing there on the balcony, scanning the crowds aimlessly. What was he looking for? This was not the place he should be if he wanted to find information upon Abu'l Nuqoud. He should be heading towards the Bureau to make known his arrival to the Rafiq and begin his _true_ search.

With a drawn out sigh, Altair backed away from the balcony edge and stood in the shade. For some reason, Altair found himself drawn to come to this confounded souk looking for _her_. The exact souk he had seen her being dragged away by the guards.

This was ridiculous. He had nothing to do with her, and neither did she. Al Mualim would be disappointed to see his student so easily sidetracked with a single woman; something so minor compared to his bigger mission.

He turned, facing the wall he had been leaning against so he could scale it. However, movement from the top of the wall caught his eye, and his amber gaze sharpened. He quickly and effortlessly climbed up the wall and looked across the rooftops. There were a few archers farther away, but none of them close enough to his position to pose as a threat. His eyes must be playing tricks on him; he needed to get to the Bureau…now.

As he moved along, footsteps silent, he spared one last glance at the souk below; and then he paused. Dull brown robes, hood tugged firmly over her features - that was her.

He canted his head ever so slightly, watching her move through the crowds, avoiding people at all costs. Her head was ducked down as if that would make her unnoticeable and she moved with a sense of purpose. He wondered briefly where she was headed off to.

_Go_, he urged himself - why did that voice sound so much like Al Mualim? - and he forced himself to move on, never sparing a second glance. So now _he_ was purposefully seeking her out? After he had firmly told himself he would _not_ have any further dealings with her? It was foolish and a waste of time. Two months time has passed since he had been in Damascus - adequate time for each of them to forget the other. In fact, she should have slipped his mind the moment he left Damas after Tamir's assassination.

So why was he finding it so hard to do so?

He shook off the thought and abandoned the souk, sprinting across the rooftops towards the Assassins' Bureau. The Rafiq would be awaiting him to arrive so he could officially begin his search for Abu'l Nuqoud and claim his life. Then, Altair would be off once again, back to Masyaf to report his success and findings to Al Mualim. That was the routine and he was determined to stick to it.

No more distractions.

* * *

Mentally, he cursed.

'Azab went stumbling backwards as he desperately tried to avoid being caught by Altair. He had dashed after Altair, determined not to lose him; but, he had to give the former Master Assassin some credit: he was quick on his feet. It didn't take much for 'Azab to lose sight of him, so he had to slow his pace and search carefully for any sign of the other assassin. When he stumbled across a souk - _his_ souk; he frequented this souk more often than the others throughout Damas - he had to take extra care to search the crowds below and any crack or crevice that could easily mask a white-robed assassin. He had been just about to give up until he glanced down at the last balcony; and sure enough, there was Altair, ready to scale the roofs again.

So now, he was on the other side of the roof, hanging off the side and feeling like a complete idiot. He prayed to God above that neither Altair or any archers could see him dangling there helplessly.

After a long pause, 'Azab could hear - just barely - boots scuffling on the roof before everything went silent. Taking a chance, 'Azab pulled himself up so he could get a better view. He saw Altair, but he wasn't looking in his direction; no, he was staring down at the souk from what 'Azab could tell from his position. What was he so interested in? The thought barely crossed his mind before Altair turned away harshly and began sprinting once again across the sunbathed rooftops. 'Azab waited until the fluttering white robes and red sash disappeared from sight before lifting himself back onto the roof. His arms screamed with relief and they felt a little rubbery from hanging onto the edge for so long. Another thing he needed to work on: endurance. And he calls himself an assassin…

Frowning, 'Azab moved back towards the balcony, his boots thumping loudly (how did Altair manage to be so silent?). He observed the souk below to see if he could spot what caught Altair's attention. He saw nothing but hoards of people and shouting merchants; a normal day for this particular souk.

Wait. No, now he saw what it was; or, what it possibly could have been. Standing at a merchant stand with her hood tugged over her features was Sa'ida. He knew the woman well enough to recognize her a mile away, and that was definitely her. So that's what garnered Altair's sudden interest. A grim look dawned on 'Azab's features.

For some reason or another, this concerned 'Azab. He had hoped that Altair's and Sa'ida's interactions would cease and that Altair would be more cautious this time around. Those hopes were now crushed. Altair had come to the souk, _looking _for her; something he did not want. Sa'ida had no involvement in the assassins' world and that was the way it should be; but Altair was slowly breaking through. With Altair's stubbornness and determination combined with Sa'ida's prying curiosity and vulnerability made a dangerous mix.

However, 'Azab was still puzzling over why Altair had taken such an interest. He would think that the former Master Assassin would be too concerned about regaining his rank than to worry about anything else. Apparently, he was wrong.

'Azab shook his head wearily. No, he would not jump to conclusions. Maybe Altair was searching for something else. What, he could only guess, but it was a better conclusion and than his first suspicion. Unless something utterly drastic happened that would push 'Azab to his limits, he would not confront Altair. The last thing he wanted was for Altair to become infuriated and jab a blade in his throat just for getting on his case for saving a woman. No, he would wait.

With a small sigh, 'Azab began shuffling across the rooftops back to his home. That was more than enough assassin training for one day…

* * *

**A/N: **And that concludes this Chapter. A little peek into Altair's thoughts and 'Azab's training. Next Chapter Altair will officially be starting his search for Abu'l Nuqoud, the Merchant King. Fun, right? XD

Please R&R to let me know what you think.

Until next time...


	7. Chapter 7: The Merchant King

**Author's Note: **Chapter 7 already? It's a miracle! Anywho, this Chapter went through quite the process. First, the ending had been different, with a little angst/fluffiness, but it seemed much too soon to incorporate such a scene so I changed it; and second, the Chapter was _extremely_ long - too long even for me - so I cut it in half and ended it at a better stopping point. So now we have Chapter 7 with Abu'l's assassination and Chapter 8...well, you'll see soon enough. Hope y'all enjoy!

**Reply to Reviews:**

_**xLadyxLionheartx: ** _XD yup, Altair is starting to become...interested...about Sa'ida. Guess we'll have to see what happens, huh? ;) I appreciate the review and I hope you enjoy the new update!

_**Victory Goddess: **_No problem. :)

Glad you enjoyed the "chase"; I swear, 'Azab is just as curious as Sa'ida at times. But, we haven't seen the last of 'Azab's and Altair's interactions either *evil grin*. Once again, I appreciate the complements and it's good to hear you're still loving the story. Hope you enjoy Chapter 7, too! :)

_**Sera22: **_No worries: there will be some action in this Chapter. Assassination wise, at least :). Hope this Chapter lives up to your expectations and that you enjoy!

_**Designation Drift: **_Indeed, Altair is taking an interest; I wonder how well that will turn out *mischievious smile*. And 'Azab can be quite the handfull at times, no doubt about that...just wait until those meet X). Happy to hear that you enjoyed the previous Chapter and I hope this one is just as good. :)

_**Writetillurdead: **_Glad to you know you love the story so far! ^^ Hope you enjoy this new update!

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed in any form or blade; I only own my OCs (Sa'ida, Ghalib, Fahdah, and 'Azab). Credit goes to Seventhfold for helping me with Sa'ida's name.**_

* * *

**Chapter VII:**

**The Merchant King**

"_Kinda thought I was a mystery and then I thought I wasn't meant to be, You said yourself fantastically, 'Congratulations you were all alone.'" -Imagine Dragons, "Amsterdam"_

* * *

"Altair, my friend. Welcome. Welcome. Whose life do you come to collect today?"

Altair paused mid-stride and glanced up at the Rafiq. The man looked upon him with a glint in his eye that showed uncontained excitement and unyielding attention. That was probably another thing that bothered Altair about Damascus: and that was visiting the Rafiq. Such a peculiar man…

"I am here for Abu'l Nuqoud. What can you tell me about him?" Altair asked, keeping his voice level and unwavering. The Rafiq visibly perked up at this news.

"Ah, the Merchant King of Damas. Richest man in the city. Quite exciting; quite dangerous," the bureau leader said approvingly, that strange glint in his eyes never leaving. "I envy you, Altair. Well, not the bit where you were beaten and stripped of your rank…but I envy everything else! Oh, except for the terrible things the other Assassins say about you. But, yes, aside from the failure and the hatred - yes, aside from those things, I envy you very much!"

Altair grinded his teeth in frustration, wanting so dearly for the Rafiq to stop rambling on. He did not want to be continuously reminded of his failure; no, he wanted to move forward and leave the past in the past. However, that was almost impossible whenever he visited the Damascus bureau leader.

"I do not care what the others think or say. I am here to do a job. So I ask again: what can you tell me about the Merchant King?" Altair tried again, putting a little more force behind his words and trying desperately to keep a straight face.

"Only that he must be a very bad man if Al Mualim has sent you to see him." The Rafiq shrugged. "He keeps to his own kind, wrapped in the finery of this city's noble district. A busy man - always up to something. I'm sure if you spend some time amongst his type, you'll learn all you need to know about him." With that, the Rafiq busied himself with some papers now laid out before him; a telltale sign that Altair was excused. Gladly, the former Master Assassin left the bureau leader and entered the adjoining room, climbing up the far wall and escaping through the square opening in the latticework rooftop.

Altair checked the streets below and then swiftly clambered down the ladder. True, the rooftops were an easy and quick route, but Altair had noticed the additional archers patrolling the city from above. It appeared that Tamir's death had rattled the city guards. No matter. Altair had other ways of moving about the city; and simply walking amongst Damascus' citizens was an excellent example.

He wasted no time, moving fluidly through the crowds towards the rich district. Soon, the number of people began to dwindle, and the remaining souls were dressed in lavish robes and cloaks and decorated with fine jewelry. Altair kept a straightforward path and his head bowed meekly, but his amber eyes constantly searched the area about him. The people, the dwellings, the merchants and their dazzling objects - Altair felt displaced, sticking out sorely amongst the rich. It was a tremendous difference compared to the middle district with its fineries and treasures and décor.

He shook his head. He needed to focus; he could admire Damascus' wonders on another occasion.

So, with that firmly implanted in his mind, Altair set about his work and concentrated on the mission ahead of him.

* * *

"Fahdah, do we have to talk here? Last time it did not go so well…" Sa'ida mumbled as she was guided - well, practically dragged - into the small garden area. A fountain gurgled noisily in the center and the vines that grew up the sides of the garden bloomed madly, giving a fresh aroma to the space. Fahdah tugged Sa'ida over to a bench in the far corner where a tall palm tree provided excellent shade. The two young women sat down, one beaming and the other wary.

"That was a long time ago, Sa'ida. Two months to be exact. Nothing has happened since," Fahdah scolded lightly, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "We will be perfectly fine."

"But…"

Fahdah held up a hand to stop Sa'ida. "No buts. Besides, we will only be here for a little while. I have something to tell you!"

"And it required us coming here?"

"Don't be so rash, Sa'ida."

Aforementioned woman sighed, exasperated. There was hardly a moment that she _didn't_ question Fahdah's reasons and motives. She always had the most peculiar ways of sharing exciting news or to simply chat. Always located at quaint, little places, acting like it was a huge secret that must be kept from the world. At times, it frustrated Sa'ida (such as right now), yet she cherished that specific uniqueness about her friend.

"Very well," Sa'ida gave in at last. "What is it you wish to tell me?"

Fahdah grinned widely at her in success. She fidgeted, trying to obtain a more comfortable position, before finally settling for raising her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms about them. "A man by the name of Abu'l Nuqoud is holding some extravagant party in the rich district within two days. Of course, the girls and myself had already accepted the invitation, but, we were not sure if _you_ would like to come. It is a large celebration and, from what I have heard, there will only be men attending - the exception being ourselves, of course. I…wasn't sure if you would be willing to go and I had been afraid to ask, hence the lateness of the news. But…it is only fair that you get to make a decision upon the matter so…" At this moment, Fahdah paused before meeting Sa'ida's gaze and asking earnestly, "Do you want to come?"

Sa'ida could not decide whether she was shocked or happy that Fahdah had presented this information to her; not to mention, she had been given a choice. Yes, Sa'ida had always had the option of going to certain parties or not, but she had felt obligated to go. To support what was left of her family and, secretly, keep an eye out for Fahdah. But now, she had a choice. Go or not go, simple as that; yet, the decision seemed much harder to make. Did the party sound fun? Well, judging based upon what Fahdah had told her…no. A decent party with a mild crowd was tolerable; but large crowd composed of men? She couldn't imagine herself within that place.

However, as she glanced up to meet Fahdah's expectant gaze, she found it hard to say 'no.' It was obvious that Fahdah wanted her there - a close friend to stay by her side amidst the festivities. Fahdah would do the same for her, no doubt about it, and it added to the guilt.

Managing a supportive and kind smile, Sa'ida slowly nodded her head. "Yes, I will go."

The words barely escaped her lips before Fahdah launched herself at Sa'ida and pulled the other woman into an tight embrace. Sa'ida was taken aback, but then her smile grew into a genuine grin as she returned the gesture. They remained like that for a moment before Fahdah pulled back, her face beaming with happiness and eager anticipation.

"You have yet to let me down, Sa'ida. I'm thankful for that." Fahdah smiled broadly. "I promise: it will only be for a short time. It'll be fun!"

"I'm sure it will be…" Sa'ida said, although doubt was evident in her tone. However, Fahdah either didn't notice or she chose to ignore it, because she practically sprang from her sitting position, still sporting a delighted grin.

"We should prepare, then. Abu'l is the richest man in Damas holding one of the largest parties; we must only deliver the best. Let us find the girls." With that, Fahdah quickly made her way out of the gardens, calling over her shoulder for Sa'ida to hurry up. With a shake of her head, Sa'ida rose from her seat and followed her friend.

Silently, she wondered if she had made the right decision upon going to this party. Well, seeing the look on Fahdah's face had made her feel a little better, but she still dreaded what was to come. Maybe, just maybe, if she just pretended like it was any other normal party, it wouldn't be so bad. Hopefully.

* * *

Altair had scoured the rich district, watching and listening and checking for any source of information. Overall, the search had been easy. Apparently Abu'l was holding some celebration and just about every soul within Damas' rich district had a personal opinion about it. There were positive things, negative things; some were exceedingly excited while others were complaining; some citizens approved, others huffed in disapproval. Such a mix of views had Altair wondering what to expect from this party and its host; however, it did not change his ultimate goal. Abu'l still had to die.

So, Altair had reported his findings upon the Merchant King to the Rafiq. The information was deemed sufficient and he was granted a feather. Now all he had to do was wait. The party was two days away and he had gathered as much as he could. He was confident with his strategy to silence Abu'l and his skills were ready to be put to use. The only thing standing between him and his goal was time; however, his patience was running thin. He wanted this to be over with soon. Now even. But no - he had to wait.

Then, at some point (a day before the assassination), Altair considered finding the woman again. He had nothing better to do, and surely he could stage it as an accident. Tempting, it was, and he nearly followed through with the idea; but he had resisted and instead wondered about the rich district again. He distracted himself with the expensive beauty of the district and kept his senses alert, in case he stumbled upon some tidbit of helpful material that could aid his mission. It had worked, and he had spent that day without another wandering thought upon _her_, much to his satisfaction and disappointment. What _was_ it that made him so curious about that woman? It was enough to drive him insane.

At long last, the time came for Abu'l's party - and his death. The hours dragged by until, finally, late afternoon descended upon Damascus, the sun's last rays shining down on the city.

Altair arrived at the party, the festivities already in full swing. As he slipped through the heavy doors, he was met with joyous celebration all around the courtyard. The space was large and spacious with tile flooring and a wide fountain in the center. Galleries lined either side of the courtyard while a balcony dominated the front. Ornate designs decorated the walls around them, giving the area a sense of strange artistry. Overall, the Merchant King's palace was something to admire.

The majority of the guests that littered the courtyard were men dressed in fine robes and wearing gold and silver bracelets and rings - in fact, the only women there were the dancers who were positioned around the fountain…

Wait.

He narrowed his eyes, studying one of the dancers to the far left corner of the fountain. She was the center of attention to the nearby guests, and she was clearly unsettled by this fact. Nevertheless, she continued, eyes directed towards the ground. Why did she seem…familiar? The way she acted. That…_shyness_.

Altair moved forward deliberately, never taking his eyes off her. She was clothed in the normal dancer's _bedlah_: the long, flowing skirt; the short top that revealed her stomach; and the veil that covered her dark hair. Her skin was paler compared to her companions, and she seemed less eager to please the men around her. Surely this wasn't the same woman. He could never imagine her holding such a position as a dancer - it didn't fit the personality, or even come close. Well, there was only one way to prove this was the right woman: and that was to see if she recognized him.

He continued forward more confidently, ignoring the occasional disdainful looks he received from the some of the guests. Soon, he found himself standing a mere five feet in front of her, contrasting greatly with the more finely clothed men around him. However, that didn't matter at the moment as he crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head back slightly, observing her as he waited for her to look up. She did not move with complete grace, but she wasn't clumsy either. No, somewhere in between: nothing to be awed about, but she was hard to overlook. It was a fact that actually amused Altair.

Long moments passed before she finally worked up the courage to glance up, and her gaze landed directly upon his staunch form. Altair could see the realization slowly dawning upon her face. Her movements stopped abruptly and her gaze turned somewhat hard and confused; and although she could not see it, he blinked in his own mild surprise upon her reaction.

The small group that had gathered dispersed, mumbling, while he stood there in the exact same position, waiting to see what happened next. He could tell she wanted to say something - as if the opening and closing of her mouth wasn't proof enough - but she couldn't seem to find the words. So, instead, she shook her head indignantly.

He considered saying something himself, but she actually beat him there, finally finding her words.

"Why?"

The words were spoken with a slight twinge of desperation that made Altair internally wince. It was a desperation to know _why_ he kept finding her; _how_ it kept happening; and _when _would it stop? And, to be honest, he didn't have an answer to any of those unspoken questions. Actually, he has been asking himself the same things lately.

So, after a prolonged silence, Altair spoke, purposely avoiding the single-word question. "It never occurred to me that you were a dancer. You do not fit the profession."

Her eyes hardened a bit more as she took a tentative step back. "You do not know me," she stated. True, he didn't. Only a few characteristics that he had picked up during their brief encounters. Yet, he felt like he knew more than that. "You are avoiding my original question. Why do you keep coming back? Who are you?"

He canted his head and took a few steps forward, shortening the distance to four feet. That clearly made her uncomfortable, he noticed. "You never asked the second question."

"You are doing it again: avoiding specific questions."

"Then perhaps I don't _want_ to tell you 'why' or 'who I am.' Have you considered that?" Now the gap was three feet, and Altair planted his feet there, letting his arms fall back to his sides and tilting his chin a bit more. She, on the other hand, took two more steps back as her fingers buried themselves in the fabric of her floor-length, silky skirt. The party continued on around them while they remained in utter silence; something that unnerved her but soothed Altair. He was used to silence, and he preferred it.

Finally, she sighed. "This is ridiculous…"

_Funny, I was thinking along the same lines_, he thought to himself.

"Excuse me," a man spoke gruffly from behind Altair, shoving aforementioned assassin from behind. Altair was caught by surprise - _how is that even possible?_ - and stumbled forward. He gritted his teeth, eager to find the man who had shoved him and teach him respect; however, his ruthful planning was cut short as a hand was placed on his chest and forcefully pushed him away.

Tired of being jostled around, Altair instinctively closed his hand around the small wrist and turned his sharp gaze to the owner of the offensive appendage. He relaxed slightly upon realizing it was the same woman. She furrowed her brow as she glanced down at her trapped hand. A short silence later and she asked quietly:

"What happened to your hand?"

Altair was caught off guard by the question and looked down to see what she meant. Then, he realized. It was his hidden blade arm, and his ring finger was missing, leaving only four digits left.

"An accident," he replied. Well, it was lie; it was done on purpose so he could properly use the assassin blade without injuring himself. But she didn't need to know that.

"Why must you be so secretive about everything?" Her mouth was pressed in a thin line now. Her tone sounded frustrated, but her features gave away nothing except a sliver of undecided fear.

"Why must you ask so many questions?" he countered.

She was about to protest, but she was quickly interrupted by a deep voice from the balcony above the courtyard.

"Welcome, welcome. Thank you all for joining me this evening." Simultaneously, they glanced up. There, standing in all his proud glory at the balcony railing was Abu'l Nuqoud himself. Altair's target. "Please, eat, drink. Enjoy all the pleasures I have to offer." Altair glanced past the woman to see the fountain come to life, a colored liquid quickly filling it. Wine. Most of the guests - and even a few of the dancers - came forward, filling their goblets with the drink.

Altair watched them for a moment before looking back up at the balcony. The Merchant King observed his visitors as well before returning to his speech. "I trust everything is to your satisfaction?" A wave of agreement rose from the soon-to-be-intoxicated crowd. "Good, good. It pleases me to see you all so happy. For these are dark days, my friends, and we must enjoy this bounty while we still can.

"War threatens to consume us all. Salah Al'din bravely fights for what he believes in, and you are always there to support him without question. It is your generosity that allows his campaign to continue. So I propose a toast, then. To you, my dear friends - who have brought us to where we are today. May you be given everything you deserve for it."

"To your health!" one man exclaimed and many others repeated the phrase as well, raising their goblets.

"Such kindness…" Abu'l observed, "I didn't think it in you. You - who have been so quick to judge me - and so cruelly."

The words brought a sudden halt to the party and many partygoers shifted and murmured uneasily. A flash of movement from the galleries above caught Altair's attention, and he turned his attention to the source. Four archers lined each side of the courtyard, faces emotionless; and all the guests were in the center - as easy targets. Altair's sharp eyes glanced back up at the Merchant King as he began to pace back and forth, speaking over the whispers of the crowd.

"Oh, do not feign ignorance. Do you take me for a fool? That I have not heard the words you whisper behind my back? Well, I have. And I fear I can never forget. But this is not why I called you here tonight. No. I wish to speak more of this war - and your part in it.

"You give up your coin, quick as can be, knowing all too well it buys the deaths of thousands. You don't even know _why_ we fight. The sanctity of the Holy Land, you'll say; or, the evil inclination of our enemies. But these are lies you tell yourselves."

Abu'l paused and chuckled to himself and the crowd bristled visibly.

"This does not feel right," Altair heard the woman next to him murmured, a foreboding edge to her voice.

"You are not far from the truth. We need to get away from the fountain," Altair responded lowly.

"'We'? Why?" she asked incredulously. He ignored the comment though, tightening his grip around her wrist and slowly working his way towards the back of the crowd. If things turned for the worst, straying off to the side would be wiser than standing amongst the throng of people.

"_No_," Abu'l said sternly, drawing Altair's attention once more. "All this suffering is borne of fear and _hate_. It bothers you that they are different - just as it bothers you that _I_ am different.

"Compassion, mercy, tolerance - these words mean _nothing_ to any of you. They mean nothing to those infidel invaders who ravage our lands in search of gold and glory. And so I say: _enough_. I've pledged myself to another cause. One that will bring about a New World - in which all people might live side by side in peace." He paused. "A _pity_ none of you will live to see it."

One man, who had been the first to retrieve the wine from the fountain, began to cough and splutter, clasping his hand around his throat and falling to his knees as he continued to hack. He wasn't the only one, either. Other guests began to fall into a coughing fit, some hunched over while others used walls and pillars for support.

"What's wrong with them? What did Nuqoud do to them?" the woman gasped behind him.

"Poison," Altair responded darkly. He glanced back up at the archers and saw them readying their bows. The people around them began to panic and tried to dash towards the exits in a desperate attempt to escape. But it was hopeless.

"Kill anyone who tries to escape," Abu'l ordered.

And that's where the madness began.

Arrows sailed into the crowd, continuing the bloody massacre. Altair darted backwards to avoid the projectiles, searching for the best way to reach Abu'l all the while. It seemed that the shortest and quickest way was to scale the balcony itself. But, before he could run off, a sudden thought struck him. He turned on his heel to face the woman who had been by his side the entire time.

"Stay close to the wall. That way the archers will overlook you." To express his point, Altair gripped her shoulders and guided her backwards until her back brushed the wall.

"And where are you going?" The words were spoken with a frightened tone. Could he blame her? People were dying all around, dropping from poison or arrows or a combination of both. He had a hard time witnessing such cruel acts too, but he had hardened over the years. She, on the other hand, has never encountered such hardships. Was that why he was helping her? Did he pity her? He quickly shook the wandering thought away and focused upon the task at hand.

"Just stay," he repeated a little more firmly before turning and sprinting through the terrified crowds. The people shoved him and arrows whizzed all around him, but Altair ignored them. He had one goal, and that was reaching the balcony. If he kept moving, then the chances of him being struck down were slimmer.

Finally! He made it. Altair wasted no time scampering up the wall, finding hand- and footholds weathered into the stone walls. He reached the railing - off to Abu'l's right - and hoisted himself up. Abu'l's two personal guards spotted him as he swung his legs over the railing and stood on the marble flooring. The first reached for the hilt of his sword, but he didn't have a chance to unsheathe the blade before a throwing knife buried itself in his chest. The second one was quicker to grab his sword, but before he could cry out an alarm, Altair was upon him, slicing his throat with his hidden blade. He fell, leaving behind a now defenseless Abu'l Nuqoud.

The Merchant King had heard the short scramble and was now fleeing for the balcony entrance. However, he barely reached the archway before Altair pounced and sunk his blade into his neck.

_**-o-**_

The terrorized screams and the smell of death seemed to dissipate around them as Altair lowered Abu'l to the ground.

"Be at peace now. Their words can no longer do harm," Altair said gently, kneeling down beside Abu'l.

"Why have you done this?" the Merchant King rasped.

"You stole money from those you claim to lead. Sent it away for some unknown purpose. I want to know where it's gone and why."

"Look at me! My very nature is an affront to the people," Abu'l scoffed, shaking his head slowly. "And these noble robes did little more than to muffle their shouts of hate."

"So this is about vengeance, then," Altair concluded, glancing away.

"No, not vengeance, but my conscience," Abu'l corrected, garnering Altair's attention. "How could I finance a war in service to the same God that calls me an abomination?"

"If you do not serve Salah Al'din's cause, then whose?"

Abu'l actually seemed amused by the question. "In time you'll come to know them. I think perhaps, you _already_ do."

"Then why hide? And why these dark deeds?" Altair demanded. He was tired of these riddles - these lingering questions that were left unanswered. When would they be resolved?

"Is it so different than your own work?" Abu'l questioned, raising his eyebrows slightly. "You take the lives of men and women, strong in the conviction that their deaths will improve the lots of those left behind. A minor evil, for a greater good? _We are the same_."

Altair clenched his teeth, his expression becoming hard as he turned his head away once again. "No, we are nothing alike."

Abu'l chuckled weakly. "Ah, but I see it in your eyes: you doubt." Then, in a darker tone, "You cannot stop us. We _will_ have our New World."

Abu'l exhaled his last breath before falling into death's embrace. Altair closed his eyes and swiped the feather over the wound on his neck, staining the feather red with blood.

_**-o-**_

Silence. A deadly silence that even unsettled Altair. The screams had ceased, the arrows had stopped flying, the wrenched coughing was no more - just silence.

The former Master Assassin rose and strode away from Abu'l lifeless body and wandered over to the balcony railing. All around the courtyard bodies were strewn, some untouched and some with arrows protruding from them. It was a ghastly sight that had Altair all but reeling.

He considered going down there - no, he _wanted_ to go down there, actually - but the distant sound of a bell tolling and the faint sound of equipment clanking told him it was time to go. So he did. Across the balcony and through the Merchant King's palace and to the streets of Damas. And, throughout his escape, he couldn't help but think: _whatever happened to that woman?_ The thought made him want to turn around, but he resisted the urge. That courtyard had been devoid of life. She had probably been killed along with the rest of them. Gone. Dead.

…And, for some reason, that stung.

* * *

**A/N: **So a partial cliffhanger. Evil, I know, but I've been on a cliffhanger spree lately. So expect more in your future X).

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed the Chapter and please R&R to let me know what you think!

Until next time...


	8. Chapter 8: Broken

**Author's Note: **Hello, dear readers. I believe I am finally settling into a nice update period for this story *victory*. So, as you already know, this Chapter was originally part of Chapter 7, but I had cut it in half; so now, one Chapter is made into two, and you finally get to see what happened after Abu'l's assassination :D.

Also, I'm grinning like a Cheshire Cat right now. Last Chapter garnered a total of 9 reviews - 9! A big thanks to you guys for those lovely reviews and the support you continue to give :)!

**Reply to Reviews:**

_**xLadyxLionheartx: **_I know, I hated to cut the Chapter in half (I really did), but it felt a bit _too_ lengthy. Plus, I love writing cliffhangers...X). Also, I'm really glad to hear that the Altair/Sa'ida moment was enjoyable...I was a little iffy upon whether it fit or not *relief*. Hope you enjoy the new update!

_**Sassiersphinx81: **_:D I'm glad you're loving the story so far! I hope I live up to your expectations and that you enjoy Chapter 8!

_**Victory Goddess: **_Yeah...Altair is slowly starting to develop feelings for Sa'ida, whether he realizes it or not ;). Once again, it's good to hear that Altair's and Sa'ida's interaction fit in well. Me and my anxiety...*sigh* Enjoy!

_**strawberrybubble456: **_Thanks for the review and I hope the new update is enjoyable :).

_**Sera22: **_I will say, it was my favorite Chapter to write (so far). Hope this Chapter is just as good :).

_**sammiepie00: **_Hoping this Chapter does not disappoint and that you enjoy!

_**Guest (Gosh that ending...): **_Here is the next update, and good to hear you're enjoying my little tale :).

_**Guest (Can't wait till...): **_Chapter 8 is finally here! Enjoy!

**_Suomenlinna: _ ***evil laugh* Cliffhangers...I love to write them... Enjoy the new Chapter and I appreciate the review!

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed in any form or blade; I only own my OCs (Sa'ida, Ghalib, Fahdah, and 'Azab). Credit goes to Seventhfold for helping me with Sa'ida's name.**_

* * *

**Chapter VIII:**

**Broken**

"_And God knows, I'm not dying but I breath now; And God knows, it's the only way to heal now." -Ellie Goulding, "My Blood"_

* * *

'Azab had had a stressful day.

First, two young boys had slipped right past his guard and made off with a crate of fresh produce he had managed to obtain. He had tried chasing them down, but they were nimbler than he was and had easily gotten away, leaving a trail of fruit in their wake. Second, he had the worst time trying to sell _anything_ to the citizens of Damas - it was like he had been invisible to them. And third, during his assassin training routine, he had decided to start building up his endurance; however, when he attempted to test himself, he had pulled something, and now his right arm was rendered useless until further notice. So you can imagine how 'Azab felt when he heard the church bell tolling.

Once…twice…thrice…a pause…then the circuit began again. Someone had been killed, and 'Azab knew that, with Altair within Damas' walls, it had been the former Master Assassin's work. And it was this fact that brought 'Azab out of his sulking and replaced it with wonder - wonder upon who had been killed. Before, it had been easy to figure out Altair's previous target, Tamir; but this time, he really didn't have a clue. That actually concerned him.

He then found himself hurrying home, ignoring the occasional wave of pain and protest originating from his strained arm. Should he really be worried about this? Was it any of his business to know who Altair was after and for what reasons? The answer would probably be no, but 'Azab tended to ignore his logical side, acting upon instincts, gut-feelings, and impulses instead. Those three factors helped him on more than one occasion, for better and for worse. He was still alive, wasn't he?

It was easy getting back to his simple, little dwelling. Evening was descending upon Damascus rapidly and very few souls were out, save for a few stragglers and drunkards. However, as he turned the final corner, his blood ran cold and he stopped abruptly in his tracks. He could see his home sitting peacefully at the end of the street, the windows dark and the lone palm tree standing beside it shuddering in the night breeze; but, sitting there in front of the wooden door, curled up and head buried in her hands, was Sa'ida.

'Azab's first thought was that she was injured, or worse, on the brink of death, and that sparked an inner rage and determination as he hurried forward. Was this Altair's doing? If so, was it intentional or unintentional? Did she interfere with the assassination someway, somehow? All these questions sprang into his mind, and he feared the worst. He was terrified to even _approach_ Sa'ida, expecting to see some grievous wound or a lifeless form. It took every ounce of courage for 'Azab to speak to the woman once he had reached her.

"Sa'ida? Sa'ida, are you alright? What has happened?" His words passed through his lips in a torrent, and no amount of honed assassin skills could mask his worry. Aforementioned woman raised her head, brows furrowed, features pale and drawn, and eyes red from crying. 'Azab scanned for any injuries as he knelt down in front of her, but he found none. So why had she been crying? "What happened, my girl?" 'Azab asked again, this time in a calmer and more controlled tone.

"I…I couldn't-" Her voice cracked on the last word and she stopped speaking altogether. She went to hide her face again, but 'Azab gently seized her wrists and kept her from doing so. He could see the tears start to slip down her cheeks again. "I failed, 'Azab. I failed, and she had to suffer for it." The tears were coming faster now.

"Sa'ida, what are you talking about? You did not fail-"

"Yes, I _did!_ I _failed!_" 'Azab winced at the hurt woven into her words as she gave in to a wracking sob. He released her wrists and pulled her into a tight embrace, ignoring the tears that soaked into the fabric of his robes. She clung to him like a lifeline, her frame shaking with every tear that fell, and her voice hoarse as she repeated "I failed" over and over again.

How long they remained like that, 'Azab could only guess. He focused not on the time, but solely to comfort the broken woman sitting before him. Never had he seen her so upset. He wondered briefly if she had been like this when her mother had passed. He had not been around at the time of her mother's death, arriving a good ten years after the incident; however, he had heard rumors upon how hard it hit Sa'ida. Some even said that's when she began to shy away from others, letting very few into her life anymore. Now, at this pitiful moment, 'Azab could easily see why. She didn't want to become attached to someone again, then lose them in the end. So 'Azab had to wonder: who was Sa'ida referring to when she had said, "I failed, and she had to suffer for it." Once again, he felt this numbing fear of finding out.

_Stay strong_, he reminded himself. _She needs you to be strong._

A short while later, Sa'ida fell silent and the tears stopped flowing. 'Azab waited a moment, prepared for another fresh wave of utter despair to come, but he was relieved to know that Sa'ida had finally calmed down. Slowly, he pulled away and looked down at her tear-streaked features. That mere action made her squeeze her eyes shut, but nothing came. She had cried herself out till there was nothing left.

"Come, let's get you inside," 'Azab declared quietly as he rose, helping Sa'ida to her feet as well. She opened her mouth, no doubt ready to retort, but she quickly back down and nodded solemnly. 'Azab wasted no time guiding her into his household and busying himself with lighting the fire and a few candles. His dwelling was nothing to be awed about in his opinion. It had two floors: the downstairs consisting of a unkempt kitchen (he was a terrible cook) and an open sitting area, and the upstairs being his bedroom. Nevertheless, he appreciated the place. It was far better than living on the streets.

Once everything was attended to, 'Azab sought out Sa'ida and found her sitting at the small, round table that was centered between the kitchen and sitting area. He gave a light sigh, steeling himself for whatever may come before joining the young woman. A silence settled over them as 'Azab struggled for words and Sa'ida stared listlessly - _desperately_ - at her hands that were folded upon her lap.

Finally, 'Azab spoke, though his tone was grave. "Sa'ida, can you tell me why you are upset?"

She swallowed, her hands balling into tight, white-knuckled fists. "She's dead."

"Who's dead, Sa'ida?"

"Fahdah."

His heart jumped into his throat then plummeted back down as he deflated. _Fahdah_. The word seemed to echo all around him as he tried to process exactly what Sa'ida told him. Fahdah was dead. Sa'ida's closest friend was dead. How could this have happened? Surely this wasn't the life the church bell had been alerting the citizens to…was it?

"Tell me everything," 'Azab ordered gently, blue eyes staring into hazel ones intently.

Indeed, Sa'ida told him everything. She told the lengthy tale about Abu'l Nuqoud and his extravagant party, of aforementioned man's betrayal, the poisoned wine, the archers…all of it was disturbing, but 'Azab tensed especially when Sa'ida described her encounter with "a man in white robes who wore a hood that shadowed his face." Altair, no doubt, and it sent 'Azab's emotions into a frenzy. He was thankful, enraged, perplexed, and everything else, towards Altair.

_Why,_ he kept asking himself. _Why?_

Sa'ida finished by explaining how she found Fahdah, pierced by an arrow and too far gone to save. 'Azab was ready to support her should she fall back into her broken state, but she kept her emotions in-check, even though it was an obvious struggle. Her features were contorted with grief, and she was exhausted from the day's events and all the crying.

'Azab found himself frustrated, and he rose from his seat so he could regain his composure. As he paced around the table, deep in thought, he heard Sa'ida timid call for his attention:

"'Azab."

He glanced across the table at her, raising his eyebrows in question. He did not trust his voice, for fear of letting his scrambled emotions show through.

Her hazel eyes suddenly turned determined, although the pain never left. "You obviously know something I don't. Twice I have told you of strange happenings, both involving the death of a man. And the second one - the one I have just shared with you - I told you of a white hooded man. I _saw_ the tension, the discomfort. You know this man, don't you? You know why this is happening?"

For the second time that day, 'Azab blood turned to ice. He shook his head fervently. "Now is not the time to discuss such matters, Sa'ida. What you through…and Fahdah…it's too much-"

"I have grieved so much today already. The burden will never leave, and I know this from experience. I still mourn my mother, yet I carry on. You are not going to overwhelm me by telling me what you know about this man and why the sudden killings. I _need_ to know."

'Azab leaned heavily against the table, his sweaty palms resting on the wooden surface. "That is where you are wrong. It will not only overwhelm you, it will _consume_ you. You are better off _not_ knowing."

"Are you afraid to tell me? That I might spread rumors?"

"That is not what I am implying. I am trying to _protect you_."

"I am a grown woman, 'Azab; I can choose what I want to be a part of."

"If you involve yourself in this, you won't _have_ a choice."

"'Azab-"

"Enough, Sa'ida. I am not discussing this."

Sa'ida's own temper flared, though rather weakly. "I am tired of being in the dark, surrounded by secrets. Why can't you tell me?-"

"Because if I can't even trust Altair to defend the Order, then how am I supposed to trust him around you?" 'Azab all but shouted, banging his fist against the table to express his point. The silence returned, and 'Azab realized, with drastic horror, what he just told Sa'ida. Not only did he mention the Assassin Order, he also uttered Altair's name. She knew because of him. And he thought it would be Altair's doing if Sa'ida ever discovered the Assassins.

"Altair…" she murmured to herself. Then, to him: "What do you mean 'defend the Order'? Who is this Altair really?"

"The less you know, the better," 'Azab said, straightening. "What you _do_ need to know, however, is that he is not a man to be trifled with. What happened this evening is all he can promise."

She considered him for a moment. "So you blame him for this?"

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "And you don't?"

"Why should I? He did not kill Fahdah, and he couldn't save her either; he kept me safe, otherwise I would be with Fahdah right now; and he killed the one responsible for today's tragedy: Abu'l Nuqoud. I have no reason to hate him or blame him. Actually, I should be thanking him for helping me as he did. He made sure I wasn't one of those unfortunate souls who were struck down by the archers…" She slid from her seat, features weary and crestfallen. "I am going home. My father is probably worried about me."

"I will warn you again, Sa'ida: do not seek Altair out. There will be no turning back if you do," 'Azab called after her. She did not reply, though, as she opened the door and left 'Azab's home, lost in a world of grief and pain.

'Azab stared after her, deep in his own thoughts as well. He had made a vow not too long ago that he would not intervene in Altair's work unless it was absolutely necessary. And right now, his instincts were telling him that it was time.

* * *

Altair briskly walked up the staircase to Al Mualim's study. So much weighed on his mind, and he was ready for the cumbersome weight to be lifted. After hearing Abu'l's words, Altair had made a solemn vow to discover the truth - the answers to the riddles - before carrying on with the Master's plan. Was it a risk to question his Master's reasons and authority? Of course it was. But Altair's longing to be enlightened was stronger than any danger he might face. It was a risk he was willing to take.

"Come, Altair. I would have news of your progress." Al Mualim's voice drew Altair from his dazed state. He ascended the final steps and stood before the Master's desk, flexing his fingers anxiously.

"I've done as you've asked," Altair proclaimed.

Al Mualim nodded his head in approval. "Good, good." Then, a slight pause as he study Altair with his half-blind gaze. "I sense your thoughts are elsewhere. Speak your mind."

Now. Now was the time. "Each man I'm sent to kill speaks cryptic words to me. Each time I come to you and ask for answers, and each time you give only riddle in exchange. But no more."

There was no missing the shock on Al Mualim's features, and the older man tilted his chin up slightly. "Who are you to say 'no more'?"

"I'm the one who does the killing. If you want it to continue, you'll speak straight with me for once."

"Tread carefully, Altair. I do not like your tone," Al Mualim warned as he paced from behind his desk to the side of it.

"And _I_ do not like your deception," Altair intoned. His Master's features hardened, and Altair steeled himself, ready for whatever may follow. He chose to follow through with this, and he would continue to do so till he reached a solid conclusion. Surely Al Mualim did not believe he could keep him in the dark forever.

"I have offered you a chance to restore you lost honor-"

"Not lost, but taken. By you," Altair cut in sharply, his stance shifting. "And then you sent me to fetch it again like some dog."

Altair had struck something, and he knew it as he watched Al Mualim draw his sword. The blade sang as it was unsheathed and it glinted fiercely in the light. Although Altair refused to move, he couldn't deny that he felt a flash of uncertainty. Too late to turn back, he reminded himself.

"It seems I'll need to find another," Al Mualim concluded, disappointment ringing true in his voice. "A shame. You showed great potential."

Another? "I think, if you had another, you'd have sent him long ago," Altair declared, and Al Mualim faltered. He had no one, and they _both_ knew that. "You said the answer to my question would arise when I no longer needed to ask it. So I will not ask. I _demand_ you tell me _what_ binds these men."

Tension spread throughout the room, almost tangible to Altair. He waited, expecting Al Mualim to strike him down; but it never came. Instead, Al Mualim sheathed his sword, a light sigh escaping his lips and his frame relaxing minutely. Altair, on the other hand, stayed on his guard.

"What you say is true. These men are connected," the Master revealed finally. "They are connected by a blood oath not unlike our own."

Altair's curiosity piqued, and some strange thrill upon discovering the truth filled him. "Who are they?"

"_Non nobis, Domine, non nobis (Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us),"_ Al Mualim murmured, his tone foreboding.

"Templars." It was like somebody had slapped Altair in the face. How could he have been so blind? The connections, their goals…the pieces clicked together in Altair's mind.

"Now you see the true _reach_ of Robert de Sable," Al Mualim confirmed.

"All of these men - leaders of cities - commanders of armies…"

"All pledge allegiance to his cause," Al Mualim finished darkly, nodding his head.

Now he knew, and he felt like a fool for not discovering this sooner. These men - Templars, and he never even considered the possibility. The proof was sound…yet, there were still holes and faultiness in these answers.

"Their works are not meant to be viewed on their own, are they?" Altair asked distantly, fingers flexing again. "They are to be viewed as a whole. What to do they desire?"

"Conquest. They seek the Holy Land - not in the name of God, but for _themselves_."

"What of Richard? Or Salah Al'din?" _What were they're roles? What would become of them?_

"Any who oppose the Templars will be destroyed. Be assured: they have the means to accomplish it."

Altair's heart lurched at these words, and he stared at his Master with a fresh wave of purpose. "Then they must be stopped."

There was a glint in Al Mualim's eye; what it meant, however, Altair did not know. "That is why we do our work, Altair. To ensure a future free of such men."

"…Why did you hide the truth from me?" Altair asked earnestly.

"That you might pierce the veil yourself. Like any task, knowledge precedes action. Information learned is more valuable than information given. Besides, your behavior had not inspired much confidence."

"I see…" Altair nodded once before bowing his head. He had his answers, and it had given him a better view upon his actions. It showed him _why_ these men had to die; it changed the nonsense to reason and understanding. Things that Altair had been seeking for a while now.

"Altair, your mission has not changed, merely the context within which you perceive it." Al Mualim, once again, drew Altair from his thoughts.

"And armed with this knowledge, I might better understand those Templars who remain."

An approving nod. "Is there anything else you want to know?"

_Nothing that you can resolve_, was the thought that fluttered across his mind. The rest was his own dealings. But, perhaps, there was _one_ more thing the Master could answer for him…

"What about the treasure Malik retrieved from Solomon's Temple?" Altair inquired, raising his head to meet his Master's gaze. "Robert seemed desperate to have it back."

"In time, Altair, all will become clear," Al Mualim assured him. "Just as the role of the Templars has revealed itself to you, so too will the nature of their treasure. For now, take comfort in the fact that it is not in their hands, but ours."

Altair was a little crestfallen, but he did not press for more answers. Perhaps Al Mualim was right. In time, he would find the truth behind the treasure as well.

"If this is what you desire."

"It is."

Altair gave a nod in acknowledgment, turning to leave so he could prepare for his next mission.

"Altair - before you go?"

He glanced over his shoulder. "Yes?"

"How did you know I wouldn't kill you?"

He was taken aback by the question, but he kept his voice steady as he answered: "Truth be told, Master…I didn't."

* * *

**A/N: **Yep, I am _definitely_ a terrible person. I killed Fahdah and caused Sa'ida some emotional pain... Wish it didn't have to come to this, but, it was one of those original ideas that stuck to this story so...yeah... Also, Altair discovers that he is really killing Templars. Honestly, when I first played Assassin's Creed, I thought he already knew that; apparently not -_-.

Hope y'all liked this Chapter, and please R&R to let know what you think!

Until next time...


	9. Chapter 9: Underneath the Surface

**Author's Note: **Ok, so a _tad_ bit late on the update. I tend to jinx myself from time to time. Anywho...lately, I've been getting more and more excited about Assassin's Creed IV. At first, I wasn't completely sold with the whole 'pirate' idea (I'll admit, I sucked at the naval missions in ACIII); but the more trailers I see and the more I learn about Edward, the more I want to play. Anybody else feeling the same way (although, I probably already know the answer ;D)?

Also, thank you to the amazing followers, favorites, and reviewers! Your support continues to astound and motivate me :).

**Reply to Reviews:**

_**xLadyxLionheartx: **_Sorry 'bout that, but I'm hoping to make up for that lack of interaction in this Chappie :). A 'leap of faith' I guess you could say for Sa'ida and Altair in this new installment ;).

Also, to answer your question, I am not exactly sure how many more Chapters until things start to pick up. It really depends upon how scenes play out and the like. However, I _can_ tell you that things will start to heat up after Al Mualim's death. You'll see ;).

Thank you for the review!

_**Victory Goddess: **_I mean, honestly, was Altair that misinformed? I figured out that he was hunting Templars on his first assassination; and I'm not even an assassin -_-. And as for 'Azab...yeah, he's bad about giving away info sometimes. Purely by accident, of course, but not a good trait when you're an assassin.

Glad to hear you enjoyed and I appreciate the review!

_**vlnEscape: **_Depending upon how well it's written and approached, no, it's not a bad thing. But...I'm not one to rush romance ;). Hope you enjoy the update!

_**Designation Drift: **_Indeed. Kinda already miss Fahdah. She was an interesting character to write.

Hope to keep the surprises coming! Enjoy, and thank you for the review.

_**ctrlaltdiee: **_I grinned like a Cheshire Cat when I read your review. It's always good to know that I'm heading down the right path with this story and that others are enjoying it :). And don't worry about it being a rambly review: your thoughts make a big difference :).

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed in any form or blade. Only my OCs (Sa'ida, Ghalib, Fahdah, and 'Azab). Credit goes to Seventhfold for helping me with Sa'ida's name_.**

* * *

**Chapter IX:**

**Beneath the Surface**

"_I was about half in love with her when we sat down. That's the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty…you fall half in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are." -J. D. Salinger_

* * *

Six targets killed by his blade, Majd Addin - Jerusalem's regent - just recently becoming his sixth victim. It wasn't an easy task - far from it, really - and Altair found himself incredibility fortunate. When he had killed the regent, Altair had been plagued by the guards who had advanced upon him with swords drawn. Luckily, with the crowd in a mad frenzy after seeing Addin's assassination, he had been able to disappear amongst the fleeing citizens and return to the bureau with overall success. Even Malik had let him depart without some objection to his work.

Once he had left Jerusalem, he had made for Masyaf where he reported yet another success. It seemed that, after their previous heated argument, Al Mualim was willing to reveal more to Altair. The mysteries that once surrounded him dissipated as more of the truth was fed to him. Altair was pleased to have obtained such knowledge, but he was also troubled once again. The pieces were coming together, but there was still something missing. A missing piece to a complex puzzle.

Whatever it was that troubled him, he had yet to figure out; and right now, he was pushing it aside.

He tugged at the reins to his mare_, _tilting his head back so he could better admire the grand entrance that led into Damascus. So soon, it seemed, that he was returning, and a part of him dreaded it. Memories of Abu'l Nuqoud and his party - it should be called a massacre - flooded his mind and his grip tightened on the reins. The whole thing had been a nightmare, but what bothered him the most about it was that woman. _Her_. He had figured her dead, but that thought did not settle with him. Until he found proof that his previous conclusion was true, he believed she was alive, hidden somewhere within the city; and it seemed that Altair had made it a personal goal to find her again.

Long ago, Altair would have proclaimed the goal foolish and a waste of time; but now, he didn't have those same feelings. He was tired of fighting this internal war - wasn't it bad enough he already had to fight in a physical war against the Templars? - so he stopped ignoring the persistence and instead embraced it. Perhaps, in doing so, he could figure out why he was so drawn to _her_.

Altair sighed heavily, swinging out of the saddle and guiding his horse to the stables. It was also frustrating upon how he didn't even know the woman's name, and how he relied upon _the woman_, _she_, or _her_ for substitutes. That was something he wished to resolve.

Slipping past the guards was simple enough, almost feeling natural after all the times he has done it before; and finding a quiet place to scale up to the rooftops was laughably easy. He turned his head in the direction of the Assassins' Bureau, considering his mission for moment, then switched to a new route and began his trek. Surely the Rafiq wouldn't miss him for a couple of hours. In fact, Altair had - surprisingly - arrived a day earlier than expected. An ample amount of time to solve this little…problem…of his.

* * *

Sa'ida honestly felt like collapsing right then and there. She felt utterly exhausted and a slight headache had formed in the back of her skull.

Ever since Abu'l's party and Fahdah's passing, some form of authority shifted onto Sa'ida's shoulders, and now she was 'in-charge' of the other dancers. It wasn't a complete orderly conduct; she simply overviewed appointments, schedules, and the like. Honestly, she never knew that Fahdah was responsible for so much; and she hasn't quite figured out how Fahdah kept it all together, either.

With that said, things have been a mess lately. Sa'ida was still adjusting to the new role of authority, and many of the girls were still somber over Fahdah's death. It seemed that, without the airy and lighthearted woman around, things were falling apart all around them and Sa'ida couldn't keep it all together. More than anything, she wanted to just drop it all and sulk away into a corner; but she knew she couldn't. The girls needed her to be strong; they needed someone to look up to and depend upon. However, Sa'ida felt the exact same way, but she had no one to support her and push her forward. She was just a single woman fighting it out and it seemed everything was getting the best of her. It was a feeling that intensified her faint headache into a throbbing one.

A long sigh escaped her lips as she paused, tilting her head backwards so she could peer up at the blue, cloudless sky above her. It appeared to be mocking her with its serenity and peace. The mere thought actually brought a faint smile to her lips as she tore her gaze away and glanced over to her right to see a garden. _The_ garden. Fahdah's 'favorite place in all of Damascus.' Her first instinct was to pass by it, scared that entering the quiet, little garden would bring back bittersweet memories. Yet, she felt an unmistakable urge to go in. It was a feeling that stumped Sa'ida.

In the end, the latter won the minor victory.

Crossing her arms loosely over her chest, she strolled through the archway that served as the entrance to the garden. It was the same as last time she was here, save for a few more blooms on the vines that grew up the walls. Memories of old conversations between herself and Fahdah resurfaced in her mind, and she actually chuckled at a couple of them (thank the Lord she was the only one there). Fahdah had always picked the oddest subjects to discuss.

How long she stood there thinking to herself, she wasn't entirely sure. What she did know was that she actually felt a little better. Perhaps that was why she had felt the urge to come in here; to relieve the stress and remember the fond memories. To let go of the troubles. Giving a contented hum, she turned on her heel so she could leave; only to come face-to-face with another being. She opened her mouth to give an apology, but the words were caught in her throat as she recognized the figure in front of her. All too well, she remembered, and her heart seemed to falter in her chest.

It was him. The white hooded man. What had 'Azab called him? Altair, was it? She had not seen him for a good two weeks now. Where does he disappear to between these killings? He must not be a citizen of Damascus, considering how she only ran into him after lengthy periods of time.

Speaking of which…why was he here? Sure, Sa'ida had become accustomed to running into him, but it was normally a plausible accident. When he had helped her in her predicament; when he had been hiding from the guards; and at Abu'l's party - all of those incidents could be passed on as coincidental. But this time, she had no explanation upon why he was here with her. Should she be worried? Concerned, maybe?

"You seem troubled."

The spoken observation jerked Sa'ida back into reality. She blinked a couple times before returning her attention to the man before her. She shifted nervously at their close proximity, making a mental note that this 'Altair' clearly did not know - or ignored - the meaning of personal space.

"Is it really that obvious?" Sa'ida started at how she spoke the words with such…familiarity. She barely knew this man, save for a name; well, _if_ Altair was really his name.

He canted his head slightly, and she caught a glimpse of amber eyes and the faintest hint of a smirk. "Without your hood up, it is easier to discern your emotions. Expressions can reveal much."

Shock was the next thing that registered in Sa'ida's mind. She brushed her fingertips across the crown of her head only to find that she was, indeed, not wearing her hood. It must have slipped off at some point without her realizing. She lowered her gaze as a light blush spread across her cheeks.

"I…did not realize…" she stuttered, instinctively taking a small step backwards. A steady silence settled between them then, and it made Sa'ida feel uncomfortable. She felt almost…vulnerable without her hood up, and it didn't help her case when he just stared at her. Well, she _thought_ he was staring at her; it was impossible to know for sure with his own hood enshrouding his features.

The stiff silence was broken when he spoke again. "What seems to be troubling you?" Was he actually _concerned_? She had only witnessed this caring side once before, and that was two weeks ago when he had ensured her safety during Abu'l's massacre.

She shifted nervously again. "Many things."

She could almost imagine him cocking an eyebrow at her statement. "You do not wish to share them with me?"

"They are personal matters, and I hardly even know you." She decided it was probably best not to mention that she knew his name. "Why should I unfold my life to you when you continue to hide your identity from me?"

There was a moment of consideration. "You make a sound statement…" Then, without warning, "What is it you wish to know?"

Sa'ida blanched at the statement. At Abu'l's party, he had avoided every question she threw his way; _now_ he was willing to answer to her? Surely there was a catch, or maybe it was some cruel joke to get her hopes up. No…surprising as it was, he didn't seem like a man who liked to toy with others. Still, she probably shouldn't push the limits. Just a simple, easy question like…

"A name would be a good start."

He turned his head away, taking a sudden interest in the vine-covered wall. Meanwhile, she waited patiently, shifting her weight from foot-to-foot anxiously.

She was beginning to wonder if he would respond or not when he answered quickly, "Altair." He pronounced every syllable with complete clarity; an obvious sign that he would not repeat himself. So Altair _was_ his name after all. "Anything else you wish to know?" he asked, dragging her, once again, away from her thoughts.

"What is your business here in Damas?"

"I'm afraid I will have to keep that to myself."

_Ah, he had expected that question_, Sa'ida mused. She tilted her head ever-so-slightly to the side in an attempt to peer into the shadows of his hood; and, in return, he lifted his chin in a defiant gesture. However, whether he was aware of it or not, she could see his face more clearly now. His strong, well-defined jawbone; the crescent-shaped scar on his lips; his amber-colored eyes that were sharp and piercing… Sa'ida quickly averted her gaze and searched desperately for a new topic.

"H-how do you keep finding me? Actually, _why_ do you keep finding me?" Sa'ida tried again, still refusing to meet his gaze. Mentally, she cursed at her weakness.

"Accidents _can_ happen," he supplied wryly.

"And you expect me to believe you are here right now purely by 'accident'?"

"It was a…valiant attempt."

She shook her head, suppressing a smile. "Valiant? I would mark it as a poor attempt."

"Brave words." He edged closer, she noticed, and she ducked her a head a tad lower, staring at the armor that covered the majority of his torso. She made note of the four empty slots that adorned aforementioned piece of armor, briefly wondering what purpose they served.

She cleared her throat. "You're avoiding my original question. What has brought you here?" She paused. "If you are looking for answers, I'm afraid I won't be able to supply the ones you seek. I am not exactly aware of all the things that happen in Damas. If, that is, your looking for information upon the city…"

He studied her for a tense moment or two. "I am not here to question you."

"Then what?"

"…Curiosity."

"Oh?" She blinked in surprise. "Am I that interesting to you?"

He openly ignored the question, instead discreetly implying a question of his own. "I still do not have your name."

Sa'ida's gaze snapped up to meet his. Was he…serious? The thought had not crossed her mind _once_ to reveal her identity to this man. She wasn't that well acquainted to him, and she didn't exactly _trust_ him, either. But, he had given her his name; he had chose to share his name with her. Didn't that make her obligated to do the same for him? He hadn't _demanded_ an answer, so he was obviously giving her a choice in the matter…

With a light sigh, she said quietly but clearly, "Sa'ida."

He made a slight humming sound. "Sa'ida…" he repeated, and a tingly feeling travel down her spine. She quickly shook it off and nodded her approval.

The silence that followed after unnerved Sa'ida as she wondered what was running through the man's head. She couldn't even begin to fathom the possibilities. He was a man of mystery, and that probably will never change.

However, Sa'ida did notice _some_ change in him. During their first encounter, he had been arrogant - it had practically radiated off of him. He did not seem to have much respect for anyone, and he only seemed to care about his own personal needs. And during their second encounter, he hadn't been much different.

But at Abu'l's party, and especially right now, he appeared to be more…humble. He now withheld respect, and Sa'ida actually got the impression that he cared for much more than himself. He was a changed man - a _better_ man than his former self. It was a new side of him that Sa'ida preferred. Enjoyed, even.

"I must leave," Altair murmured; and before Sa'ida could object, he turned on his heel and took long strides towards the garden's entrance.

"Altair." He stopped, but did not turn around. "Just so you know, I rather enjoyed that, compared to our previous encounters. It was a good change."

Sa'ida watched as he stood there for a few seconds before giving a single, barely noticeable nod and leaving the garden. When he was gone, Sa'ida let a smile that she had been containing slide across her face. She hadn't lied when she told him she enjoyed the conversation.

She felt good.

_Really_ good, actually.

* * *

_Altair._

He liked the sound of his name on her lips.

_Just so you know, I rather enjoyed that, compare to our previous encounters._

He may never admit to it, but he did garner some enjoyment from their conversation.

_It was a good change._

Indeed it was. Not only was their meeting a much more peaceful experience, she was an entirely different person. Or, at least, she appeared to be a changed person in his eyes. Before she had been a timid woman - shy and fearful and constantly unnerved by his presence. Now, she was more…open; a tad bit braver, too. She still retained some of her old characteristics, of course, such as her curiosity and her tendency to fidget in uncomfortable situations. And not all of her shyness had completely vanished, either.

Nevertheless, he saw change, and he favored this side of her.

_Focus. You have a mission to complete_, he reminded himself. True, he did still have his mission. At least he was able to accomplish _something_ and satisfy part of curiosity. He now knew her name - Sa'ida - and he would like to think that he had earned a sliver of trust. Yet, he couldn't shake this feeling of need. A need to establish more trust. A need to know more about this woman and _what_ keeps drawing him back to her.

Perhaps, in due time, he could achieve these goals as well; that is, if Sa'ida is willing to try.

* * *

**A/N: **Hope you enjoyed, and please R&R to let me know what you think!

Until next time...


	10. Chapter 10: When Push Comes to Shove

**Author's Note: **Hello, dear readers, and welcome to Chapter 10. It's a little shorter than to my liking, but there is nothing more that can be added to it. However, the following two or three Chapters will be _a lot_ longer, since we will be dealing with Robert de Sable and Al Mualim X).

Also, shout-out to the followers, favorites, and reviewers! I know, I've probably told you guys this a thousand times before, but I will say it again: you guys _are_ amazing! Reading the reviews, seeing the story alerts...it provides encouragement and builds my confidence. It's hard to thank you guys enough. :) I hope you enjoy the new update!

And ELEVEN REVIEWS! Thank you guys so much! ^^

**Reply to Reviews:**

_**Victory Goddess: **_Yup, Altair and Sa'ida are slowly, but steadily, making progress. It can only get better from here, right? ;)

And I can second that! In all honesty, when I first played _Assassin's Creed_, I wanted to slap Altair a couple of times...but, he eventually got better and _much_ more likable.

Thank you for the review and please, enjoy :).

**_WingedxSapphire: _**I try to make this story stand out from the rest and add a touch of uniqueness to it, so it's always good to hear that my efforts are coming to fruition :). I appreciate the review! Enjoy!

_**Hsj1022: **_^^ I'm glad you like it! XD Who knows? Altair's done the impossible before, so he might be able to pull her out of her shy state :).

Anywho, I hope not to disappoint, and I also hope you like Chapter 10!

_**Dolce Latte van Creme: **_So I wasn't the only one? XD I'll admit, when I was writing out their conversation, I couldn't keep a straight face for some reason. Altair/Sa'ida moments just seem so...awkward (in an adorable way). And trust me, I was a little dumbfounded too when I learned that Altair had _no idea_ he was hunting Templars. I mean...really? -.-

Anyway...thank you for reviewing ^^!

_**Guest (:Ah! I love this story...): **_No words can describe how surprised (and happy) I was while reading this review. I just...I didn't realize I had that capability. I thank you for the review - seriously, it gave me quite a boost - and I hope to continue to impress. Enjoy :).

_**Guest (:Oh this is cute...): **_Glad to know you like it! I try my best to keep good ol' Altair in character, but it can prove to be a challenge at times - especially when trying to picture him as 'the romantic type' XD.

Please, enjoy Chapter 10 :).

_**Sassiersphinx81: **_Hey, I still appreciate that you took the time to leave a review, so no worries :).

It's good to hear that you're enjoying my tale so far, and I hope not to disappoint!

_**ctrlaltdiee: **_Sa'ida is in for a treat, that's for sure ;). Thank you for the review and enjoy!

_**xLadyxLionheartx: **_XD Yes, the time is slowly approaching! Thank you for the continued support!

_**Guest (:No fahdah,...): **_:/ I know, I miss Fahdah, too; it was always so interesting to write her reactions and personality... Anywho, hope you enjoy and thank you for the review!

_**Isir: **_XD I giggled at the comparison, but I appreciate it nevertheless :). And I try my best to capture each character's personality, etc., whether it be canon or OCs. It's good to know that they are turning out smoothly ^^. Enjoy the new update!

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed in any form or blade. I only own my OCs (Sa'ida, Ghalib, Fahdah, and 'Azab) and credit goes to Seventhfold for helping me with Sa'ida's name.**_

* * *

**Chapter X:**

**When Push Comes to Shove**

"_The eagles are flying and crows are dying, I guess I'll jump quick just to see if I still have a chance to live […] What are we anymore?" -Phillip Phillips, "A Fool's Dance"_

* * *

_It is a terrible feeling: losing control. Everything is spiraling madly into some bottomless pit, and I have no control whatsoever. I only want to do what is right; what is beneficial to us all. However, it would seem God - or, if not God, some other unknown, omniscient being - wants things to happen differently. _

_Perhaps I am looking at this the wrong way. Perhaps I am not seeing something that I should. Maybe, just maybe, what I am trying to prevent is far from good, and instead holds only chaos and depression. _

_Yet, I find that so hard to imagine. _

_My instinct is telling me to wait - my instinct is hardly ever wrong - but my logical reasoning is insisting me to do something other than sit around and wait for a miracle to happen… _

…_So, I find myself caught between a rock and a hard place. My choices? Wait, or do what I believe is right. My answer? _[There are a few words and phrases written afterward, all harshly scratched out.]_ No, I refuse to wait. I have waited too long on so many occasions; and each time I paid a dear price. I will not let it happen again. I believe it is time that Sa'ida learned the truth about Altair._

_True, she will also have to know the truth about my origin as well. Whether she will love me or hate me, I have no way of knowing until I tell her. And who's to say that she will push Altair away once I reveal his secrets to her? It seems, no matter the circumstances, she is naturally drawn to him; the same applies to Altair, strangely enough. This fact just makes it harder for me to follow through with my plans. What if I am wrong? Will I cause more pain? Hurt? I have seen Sa'ida fall before - and fall hard - and I do not wish to see her fall again… _

…_But I also know that Altair cannot continue to hide from her. If he wishes to form a bond between them, whether it be a friendship or… _[There is a considerably large ink blotch where a quill had been pressed down roughly to the paper.] _…or something beyond mere friendship - I pray day and night this is not the case - he cannot continue to dodge around questions about his personal life. I guarantee you: Sa'ida will find out the truth sooner or later…_

…_It all comes down to one question: should I be the one to deliver such news to Sa'ida? Should it not be Altair's responsibility? He dragged her into his life, now he must decide if he wishes to keep it that way. I wish he would lose interest, but I am afraid he will not be so prompt to let go of Sa'ida quite yet. _

_Why he is so persistent? What is Sa'ida to him? …What is Altair to Sa'ida?…_

* * *

'Azab found himself staring at his words, lost upon what to jot down next. His last, internal question lingered on his mind and prohibited him from continuing on. Why _was_ Sa'ida so…interested with Altair. It was already a wonder how Altair became attracted, but Sa'ida? That was another story. Sa'ida was a shy woman who kept to herself and avoided any trouble that came her way; yet, here comes Altair, blocking her path and providing nothing _but _problems, and she willingly diverts from her life to emerge into his. 'Azab just couldn't grasp the meaning to it all.

With a sigh, 'Azab set down his quill, closed the inkwell, and gazed down at the parchment before him. He studied the black-colored words with immense scrutiny, his blue eyes traveling from right to left as he read each line carefully. Then, with a huff of frustration and disgust, he picked up the paper and crumpled it. Once the piece of paper was nothing more that a wrinkled ball speckled with black markings, he tossed it to the far corner of the table where it balanced precariously on the edge before tumbling off.

As he leaned his elbows on the wooden surface, he wondered: why was _he_ so worried about all of this? Was it even his place? His concern? He was only a distant companion of Sa'ida's, and a mere brother-in-arms to Altair - if even that. If they wanted to play with fire - so to speak - he should have no problem letting them do so.

Yet, he _did_ have a problem with it; and a nagging one, at that.

It was amazing how two people he never really bonded with could effect him so much. Any normal man would've waved it aside and continued on with life; but 'Azab wasn't that type of man. Perhaps it was his old assassin training and lessons that were awakening: telling him to be alert at all times, and to expect the unexpected. Maybe it was his natural instinct warning him of some foreboding situation. Or, he could simply be watching over them - more specifically Sa'ida. Like an older brother protecting his younger sibling. He tended to become that way towards people he knew and considered family.

…So, maybe he had formed a mutual bond with the Basilah family. Still, that did not change the fact that he was obsessing over something so seemingly little.

Exactly. _Seemingly little_, when in reality, it could open a fresh wound. For whom, he had yet to answer, but he felt it deep within him. The sense that originated from his gut and eventually spread to the rest of his mind and body. It was the same sense he would feel when a battle was approaching. Shouldn't that be some sign? A warning, even?

All these little wonderings led to one big question: was he doing the right thing at all? In his own words, he expressed his concern for what might happen if Sa'ida learned the truth. The _whole_ truth. But, was it his place to say anything to her? He had chosen long ago to leave Sa'ida out of his old life and instead introduce her to the new him. 'Azab the merchant, not 'Azab the assassin. Should he keep it that way and see how Altair will deal with the situation? Part of him said yes, but another part was stubbornly saying no.

'Azab straightened, exasperated. His eyes trailed to the floor where the crinkled paper lay undisturbed. Lips pressing into a thin line, he leaned forward in his chair and picked up the parchment. He unraveled it and smoothed out the wrinkles, briefing over the words written there. There was still some space at the bottom of the page, so he creased the paper right below his final words and tore it. It was far from a neat tear, but it was good enough. Reopening the ink, he retrieved his quill and dipped it into the black substance before beginning to write on the new slip of paper.

Two sentences later, and he was finished. He carefully folded the slip in half before depositing it within his pouch. Maybe all that was needed was a little push of encouragement.

* * *

The thunderous clang emitting from the church bell almost sounded like a familiar melody playing in the background. He did not lend his ear to the continuous tolling, but it provided a rhythm for him as he sprinted across the rooftop. Each clang joined harmoniously with each _thud_ of his foot; each pause provided the opportunity to jump a gap, to descend or ascend to another level, or to dodge past an obstacle. It was a strange thought that flitted across his mind, but he rather enjoyed the comparison.

Finally, after he had put a considerable distance between himself and Jubair's _madrasah_, Altair slowed to brisk walk. His heart beat strongly within his chest while sweat beaded on his forehead, slowly rolling his features. Had he ever been this tired before? No, he hasn't; but, he also knew that he has been disposing of his targets nonstop for two-and-a-half months now. Two-and-a-half months for seven targets, and he still had two more to go. His final two, one of them being Robert de Sable.

A new wave of determination washed over him at the thought of the Templar Grandmaster. The same man he encountered at Solomon's Temple; the same man he had underestimated and lost to; and the same man that took Kadar's life.

He bristled as a pang of undecided guilt struck him, and he quickened his steps. No, he would not think back on that day. He would not let his thoughts linger upon de Sable until the time came for his downfall; and Altair was still one Templar away from that ultimate goal.

Soon, the Assassins' Bureau came into view and he made the last jump, landing in a crouch upon the latticework rooftop. Rising, he strode over to the square opening and dropped down, his boots making a light _thump_ as they hit the floor. From the adjourning room, the _scritch-scratch_ of a quill against paper reached his ears; so, when he entered the Rafiq's workspace, he was not surprised to see the man jotting down some note in small, neat letters.

"Altair," the Rafiq greeted without looking up. "Tell me you met with success."

The man's voice held high expectations, Altair noticed, and he answered in a flat tone, "Yes. Jubair's fires are extinguished - his life as well." In a single, fluid motion, he produced the blood-soaked feather from his pouch and held it aloft. The Rafiq straightened from his hunched position, studied aforementioned feather, and nodded his approval with a grin.

"Excellent news! I had no doubt you'd succeed."

Altair's sharp eyes fixed themselves upon the cluttered table, his mind wondering back to his experience within the _madrasah_. The crackling of the fire, the smell of burnt paper and flesh mingling with the smoke… "You should have seen it. The scholars followed him so readily. Wasn't just books they fed to the fire, either, but any man that opposed them," Altair remarked grimly, the grisly scene fresh on his mind.

The Rafiq shook his head sadly, his grin falling from his features. "Such ignorance brings only evil. You've done a good thing, this day."

Altair barely registered the comment as he continued. "As with my other targets, he believed he was doing the right thing - clearing a path to a better future."

"Of course he would. Such is the landscape of a madman's mind," the Rafiq tried to reason, but Altair again brushed it aside.

"The things I've seen these past few weeks…it's as if all the land has gone mad."

"And this is why we fight to end the war: that sanity might return. The people are desperate for direction. It's easy for men like Jubair to prey on this and turn them." The Rafiq paused so he could study Altair's reaction, but it was fruitless for Altair's hood cast a dark shadow upon his face, obscuring his features and whatever expression they held. "You should go, Altair. Return to Al Mualim, tell him what you saw, as you know the good you've done this day."

Altair nodded distantly. "Safety and peace, Rafiq."

"Upon you as well."

The former Master Assassin turned towards the exit, fully prepared to be on his way. The Rafiq was right: he needed to report back to Al Mualim and tell him, once again, of his success. And, just maybe, he might be able to find some clarity as well.

However, before he could depart, the Rafiq called after him, "Oh, Altair, before you go." Altair glanced over his shoulder, his eyebrows raised in question. The Rafiq reached under the table, groping for some unseen object, before producing a slip of paper and placing it on the desk's surface. "For you."

Altair eyed the folded piece of paper warily before finally walking forward and picking it up. It was easy to see that the slip was merely a scrap torn from a larger sheet, and the texture was rough and wrinkled. Unimpressed, Altair unfolded it casually, reading over the black scribbles. It was untidy and shaky, no doubt written in much haste or under pressure. Whatever the case may be, it mattered little to him; only _what_ was written mattered, for it sent a jolt throughout his body as he read it again.

Anger is what hit him first, then frustration and defiance. For a third time he skimmed the words, teeth grinding. Who would be bold enough to even pass on this message to him? To think they could command him and his actions?

"I want to know who gave this to you." He tried to keep his voice calm and steady, but his tone translated into a demanding one.

However, either the Rafiq did not notice or ignored it, because he simply shrugged. "I can not say for certain. He wore the robes and bore the weapons of the Brotherhood, though. I suspected he was an acquaintance of yours." He studied Altair. "Is there a problem?"

Altair glanced down at the slip once more in consideration. _Was_ it a problem? Well, it certainly made his blood boil, but was it really a concern? Should he heed the words?

Clearing away his thoughts, he met the Rafiq's gaze evenly. "Not at all."

With that, he folded the paper and stowed it away, leaving the bureau leader's presence. His demeanor was as silent and unreadable as ever, but within his mind, the note's words bounced around wildly:

_She deserves to know the truth. Either you tell her, or I will._

Although it wasn't specified upon _who_ this man was referring to, Altair was more than certain that he was speaking about the woman: Sa'ida. How did he know about their…acquaintance? More importantly, why did he care? Who was he?

His head swam and he flexed his fingers anxiously. Again, he asked himself: should he heed the words? He wanted, for some reason or another, to establish trust between himself and Sa'ida; and he knew in the back of his mind that, in order for it to become possible, he would have to open up to her sometime. But who's place was it to _force_ him into action? To indiscreetly imply this threat of exposing him if he failed to live up to expectations?

Infuriated further now, Altair fervently shook his head as he made his way to Damas' northern entrance. Even though the questions piled endlessly within his mind, he knew one thing for certain: Damascus was surely a city of secrets.

* * *

**A/N: **Well then...that concludes Chapter 10. I hadn't originally planned on incorporating this into the story, but, I felt it was necessary, especially for future Chappies. It also provides a partial link to Altair and 'Azab now, though not a very...sentiment...one.

So, as I mentioned above, the next few Chapters will be longer since we will be dealing with Robert de Sable and Al Mualim. I will warn you now: I'm gonna be putting Altair through some pain :/. I'm just that terrible...

Well, hope you liked it, and please R&R to let me know what you think!

Until next time...


	11. Chapter 11: Siege

**Author's Note: **I finished this Chapter right on time! It has certainly been a difficult one to write - I think I rewrote it a total of three times...maybe four - but I feel pretty good with this final outcome. Also, as a heads-up for you guys, I wrote this a _little_ differently. I had originally added in different conversations (i.e. the talk between Altair and Al Mualim _before_ Altair left for Jerusalem; the exchange between Altair and Malik after the whole "Maria Incident"; and the conversation between Altair and King Richard before the battle with de Sable). However, I found that it took up too much space and that they weren't truly necessary. Therefore, I shortened (and italicized) them and highlighted only certain segments that related to the following incident. ...Whew...ok, now that that's covered, we can continue forward! Enjoy, my dear readers!

**Reply to Reviews:**

_**Victory Goddess: **_When you mentioned that, I actually tried to imagine 'Azab in a ninja's costume XD. It was certainly...interesting.

As always, I appreciate the review, and I hope you enjoy :).

_**MJluver777: **_Really? I never considered myself good with tension...well, at least I succeeded :D. Enjoy!

_**Sassiershinx81: **_I have returned with the continuation! Hope it lives up to expectations!

_**ctrlaltdiee: **_'Azab lives life on the edge...XD Ok, kidding, kidding. But he certainly is a risk taker at times ^^.

_**violyss: **_I seriously appreciate the review :). It's nice to know that I am heading down the right path with this story and that others are enjoying. And it's also good to hear that I am keeping up with the excitement! I never want my readers to become bored with the story I am trying to tell. Again, thank you, and I hope you enjoy! :)

_**Designation Drift: **_Hey, I'm still glad you reviewed :). Glad to know you liked it, and yes, I am almost there :D. This story has certainly been one of my most popular. Enjoy!

_**Suomenlinna: **_Gah! I totally forgot that Arabic is read differently than English. Silly me... Thank you for bringing my attention to this fact, and I will correct it.

Also, glad you enjoyed, and I hope this one is just as good! Thank you for the review. :)

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed in any form or blade. Only my OCs (Sa'ida, Ghalib, Fahdah, and 'Azab). Credit goes to Seventhfold for assissting me with Sa'ida's name.**_

* * *

**Chapter XI:**

**Siege**

"_I never knew, I never knew that everything was falling through; That everyone I knew was waiting on a cue, To turn and run when all I needed was the truth." -The Fray, "Over My Head (Cable Car)"_

* * *

"_We are close, Altair. Robert de Sable is now all that stands between us and victory," Al Mualim told him. "His mouth gives the orders. His hand pays the gold. With him dies the knowledge of the Templar treasure and any threat it might pose._

"…_Jerusalem is where you faced him first. It's where you'll find him now. Go, Altair - it's time to finish this."_

* * *

Everything happened so quickly. The scenario changed in a blink of an eye, from beginning as a ceremony to honor the "beloved" Majd Addin to morphing into a frantic scramble. Mourners dispersed in a frenzy, shoving and pushing as they fled from the cemetery. Templar knights advanced towards Altair calmly, swords drawn, as if the people around them did not exist. Two archers - who were stationed on wooden platforms that jutted from the opposing building - poised their bows and nocked their arrows, aiming in Altair's general direction. Even the air around him seemed tense and electrified, signaling the approaching battle.

With a steady inhale of breath, Altair drew his own sword and took his stance. He waited, amber eyes flittering from one Templar to the next, until they finally landed on the form of Robert de Sable.

For some reason, something felt…_off_ to Altair. Yes, this entire ceremony for Majd Addin had been suspicious - and for a good reason, too, since it had been a trap all along - but now, something _else_ bothered him. The doubt he felt in his gut seemed to point towards the Templar Grandmaster, and it had Altair second guessing his knowledge. Was this not de Sable standing before him? He wore the proper attire, he was the same height, he held the sword with usual confidence…what was there to doubt? This _had _to be the man whom he encountered at Solomon's Temple…right?

Altair's train of thought was cut short as one of de Sable's bodyguards attacked, thrusting his sword forward in a single, quick movement. However, it wasn't quick enough, for Altair parried the attack and danced around him. With an upward stroke, he opened a deep gash in the opposing man's side, sending him stumbling onto all fours. Altair carried on his momentum as he whirled to meet his next opponent. They traded blows, the steel of their swords clashing and ringing through the air, before the point of Altair's sword found a crevice in the Templar's armor and opened a hole in the man's throat. He tumbled, dead before he even hit the ground.

There was little time to cherish the victory, for two more knights charged him, hoping to a gain an advantage in numbers. For a horrific moment or two, the strategy did work in favor of the Templars. Their combined efforts brought a challenge to Altair as he worked to defend himself. Each clash rattled his frame, and each failure in his defense resulted in a new nick or cut across his skin; thus, he was finding it harder and harder to find a break so he could deliver his own attack.

Another strike broke through his defense and collided solidly with the armor covering his torso, sending him stumbling backwards in mild shock. His free hand brushed over the area of impact, but he found nothing other than some slight damage to his armor. His sharp eyes flickered upwards, first landing on the two knights that were coming forward _again_; then on Robert de Sable who lingered behind safely with his second bodyguard; and finally, on the archers positioned high above. They had yet to fire a single arrow - probably out of fear of hitting one of their own - but that fact appeared to be changing, for they drew their arrows taunt and aimed at him.

And that's when the idea struck him. He focused his amber gaze once more on the Templars before him, his mind picturing the archers in their firing state.

It was a tense two seconds, but Altair timed it perfectly. In a single, blurred movement, he sheathed his sword and rolled forward. His attackers were taken aback for a split second - and, ironically, that was all the time they had left. The archers had released their projectiles, one arrow striking the ground where Altair once stood, and the other - fired by the archer who faltered after Altair's changed course of action - finding its mark in the neck of a Templar knight.

Meanwhile, Altair had sprung from his crouched position, his right hand wrapping around his body and unsheathing his short sword. By the time the second knight had comprehended what just happened, Altair's sword entered his body below his chest cavity and tore upwards, ending his life. Altair did not waste time in retrieving his weapon, and instead opted for his broadsword once again. One knight stood between him and de Sable; and, unfortunately for him, Altair's fierce determination cut him down in just a few strokes.

It was time. Robert stood before him, sword raised and eyes glaring at him through the helmet's eye openings. Altair's own eyes darted skyward, watching as the archers readied more arrows and targeted him. They were Robert's advantage - and that was something Altair intended to change.

As another set of arrows were released, Altair shot forward. De Sable tensed, fully prepared for the Master Assassin to strike; however, Altair caught him by surprise. Instead of attacking, he danced around him, putting the Templar Grandmaster between himself and the archers' arrows. Now his back was to the stonework building and de Sable was before him. No more archers, no more knights or bodyguards - just them, their swords, and their skills.

The battle was fast and grueling. Clangs and grunts of effort emitted from the dueling pair. Their swords moved at a blurred pace, and their swings, strikes, and thrusts were furious but controlled. And, despite the consequences if he lost this match, Altair felt an unexplainable thrill fill him. The lightening-quick speed they moved at, the clashes of their weapons, the drumming of his heart - it seemed almost surreal, yet strangely exciting.

However, his muscles began to tire, and his movements became more exerting. It was time for this duel to end - it was time to end de Sable once and for all.

Altair parried another strike, then countered with a downward swipe. De Sable raised his sword above his head in order to block the attack; but, in doing so, he left an opening. Altair sent a harsh kick to the opposing man's abdomen, sending him reeling and leaving him defenseless. With a _snick_, Altair unsheathed the hidden blade and met de Sable's gaze as the man lifted his head up.

Suddenly, Altair felt like someone had slapped in the face. Those eyes…they were not the same. In color, in fortitude…nothing; and Altair would know, too, for he had encountered de Sable firsthand and up-close before. His mind traveled back to his time in Solomon's Temple: when he had charged the Templar Grandmaster, only to be seized by the throat and rendered helpless. He had met the man's gaze evenly; and this man before him right now did not hold the same cold and hard stare.

So, it was by this realization that Altair altered his strategy _again_. He would not kill him - not yet, anyhow. First, he would find his answers.

He pounced before the imposter could recover and sank his blade into his shoulder, burying it deep as they collapsed onto the ground.

_**-o-**_

Altair removed his now bloodied blade from the man's shoulder, but remained crouched over him. Then, he moved his hands forward and placed them on each side of the helmet.

"I would see your eyes before you die," Altair claimed and pulled the helmet off the imposter's head. However, what he saw shocked him and he let the helmet slide from his fingertips and crash onto the ground.

Before him was a woman - an Englishwoman. Her hair was tucked away under the chain mail coif. Her eyes shone with a spitfire characteristic and her features were set in a determined and knowing look. She showed no fear of the assassin who currently had her pinned uselessly to the ground; and it was because of this fact that Altair held admiration towards her. For her bravery, as well as her skill with a blade.

"I sense you expected someone else," she remarked absently, dragging him back to the present situation. Pushing aside his wondering thoughts, her curled his fingers around the collar of her uniform, lifting her upper body off the ground by an inch or two.

"What sorcery is this?" he demanded.

She shook her head, unaffected. "No sorcery. We knew you'd come. Robert needed to be sure he'd have time to get away."

"So he flees?" _That does not sound like something Robert would willingly do._

"We cannot deny your success. You have laid waste to our plans. First the treasure, then our men. Control of the Holy Land slipped away," she admitted, a slight frown tugging at the corners of her lips. "But then he saw an opportunity. To reclaim what has been stolen - to turn your victories to our advantage."

Altair stared at her a moment, thinking, before retorting boldly: "Al Mualim still holds your treasure, and we've routed your army before. Whatever Robert plans, he'll fail again."

"Ah," she drawled, amused. "But it's not just Templars you'll contend with now."

_What does she mean?_ "Speak sense," he pressed, lifting her higher off the ground.

"Robert rides for Arsuf to plead his case: that Saracen and Crusader unite against the Assassins."

The reveal made Altair falter. "That will never happen. They have no reason to."

At this point, a conniving glint lit her eyes. It was something that both intrigued and infuriated Altair. "_Had_, perhaps…but now you've given them one. _Nine_, in fact. The bodies you've left behind - victims on both sides. You've made the Assassins an enemy in common and ensured the annihilation of your entire Order. _Well done_."

The truth behind her words made Altair bristle, but he quickly shook it off before it became evident. None too gracefully, he released his hold on her uniform and stood, stepping away from her in a defiant gesture. "Not nine. Eight."

"What do you mean?" she asked as she regained her feet, sounding genuinely surprised.

"You were not my target. I will not take your life." He gestured towards the city of Jerusalem. "You're free to go, but do not follow me."

"I don't need to," she bit back. "You're already too late."

"We'll see."

_**-o-**_

* * *

"…_When I'm done with Robert I will ride for Masyaf, that we may have answers. But perhaps you could go?" Altair's hopes slowly rose…_

"_I cannot leave the city," Malik replied, and Altair's hopes fell flat. He thought for a long moment before meeting his friend's gaze._

"_Then walk amongst its people. Seek out those who served the ones I slew. Learn what you can. You call yourself perceptive - perhaps you'll see something I could not."_

_There was a pause. "I don't know…I must think on this."_

* * *

"Really, 'Azab, you _must_ want _something_."

"Me? Want something?" A bark of laughter escaped his lips. "Now what would lead you to believe that?"

She hummed. "Well for one, you escorted me back to the middle district and then proceeded to invite me into your home. You also seem a bit flustered…"

"Why, I was simply trying to do a kind deed. Apparently my efforts are not appreciated."

With a roll of her eyes, Sa'ida took a seat at the table, folding her hands in her lap. She watched as 'Azab closed the door nonchalantly and as he began to unfastened the pouch that hung from his hip. When he finally succeeded, he returned his attention to her. "And flustered? I highly disagree with that. Merchants are skilled at keeping a level head."

"Very well…" Sa'ida said slowly. "Then perhaps the word I am looking for is _distant_."

'Azab cocked an eyebrow. "'Distant'?" She nodded, and he shrugged a shoulder. "Maybe a little, I will admit. Much has happened in such little time." He ran his thumb along the edge of the table, feeling its roughness. "But you have endured difficult times lately, too, Sa'ida. How are you fairing?"

Sa'ida stared at the spot where 'Azab had just ran his thumb over, thinking. Now that 'Azab had brought it up, her life had certainly taken a strange path; and just over the past two or three months. She has met new and…interesting…people; she has lost a friend; she and 'Azab have grown closer as friends; and her father's health had been improving tremendously. However, she had never stopped to consider how much she was effected by the changes. They had come and gone, bringing both pain and happiness, and she had never truly dwelled upon them.

"I have had my share of ups and downs. Life in Damascus has changed in the past few months; but I believe it to be a good change," she supplied, meeting 'Azab's gaze evenly. "Wouldn't you agree?"

A slight frown twisted 'Azab's features and he again ran a thumb along the edge of the table. "In some ways, Sa'ida…I cannot."

She blinked in obvious surprise. That was…unexpected. "How so?"

"…Have I ever told you why I came to Damascus?"

Again, Sa'ida was taken by surprise. What did that have to do with anything? "You have mentioned a few times that you came here to start anew. Otherwise, I know nothing more." She shifted in her seat, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the table. She asked softly, "Is that what has been bothering you, 'Azab? Something from the past?"

'Azab chuckled half-heartedly. "I suppose the saying rings true: 'Your past comes back to haunt you.'" He sighed. "But, yes, it _does_ have something to do with the matter."

She studied him for a moment, considering upon how to proceed. She hated to press 'Azab for answers if he was not willing to supply them. It may be something he would have to fight out on his own. But…it wouldn't hurt to ask, or to offer some form of encouragement. Anything other than turning away.

"You know, 'Azab, I am willing to listen if you wish to share the issue with me," Sa'ida said, her voice still low and cautious.

There was a long pause between them. Unsteady and beyond Sa'ida's comfort. She could tell that 'Azab was fighting an internal war with himself just by the uneasy expression on his face, and it made her wonder what could possibly be running through his mind. Was it truly that bad? That dark?

Sa'ida opened her mouth to add something else, but 'Azab spoke first. "I believe it is time I told you-"

He was cut short by a sharp, rapping noise from the door. Sa'ida bit her lower lip and leaned back in her seat, returning her hands to her lap. She watched silently as 'Azab rose and strode away to answer aforementioned door. A couple of minutes passed and she could clearly hear a conversation being spoken; however, she could not discern what was being said. Again, her curiosity was piqued and she felt the urge to go after 'Azab, but she held back. It was none of her business, she was sure. Why else would they be speaking so lowly?

Finally, the sound of the door closing reached Sa'ida's ears, and she perked up when 'Azab returned. He now wore a concerned and genuinely confused expression, and he ran a hand through his short hair.

"Is everything alright?" Sa'ida ventured, tilting her head slightly and raising her eyebrows in worry. 'Azab must have forgotten about her presence, for he jumped, startled, and glanced over at Sa'ida with bewilderment in his eyes. However, it quickly passed and he waved a hand to push aside the question.

"Of course, my girl, of course." Then, after a pause, "However, I am afraid that we will have to continue this conversation on another occasion. It appears an issue has arose concerning my stall within the souk, and it must be dealt with immediately." He proffered his hand, and Sa'ida took it so he could assist her to her feet.

It was all very strange to Sa'ida. First, the way 'Azab had behaved since he had escorted her home; then how he seemed to be withholding some secret; and now this…"issue" concerning his stand.

Nevertheless, she refused to share her concerns, and instead offered an apologetic smile. "I understand. Perhaps another time. I wish you the best of luck, 'Azab."

"I appreciate it, Sa'ida. God knows I will need it."

* * *

"_It's not you I've come to kill. It's him." Altair knew that he was treading dangerous ground. He knew that one slip-up could cost him everything - cost the Brotherhood everything they fought for._

_The Lionheart looked upon him with scrutiny. Then, he motioned for his men to part and for Altair to come forward. "Speak, then, that I may judge the truth. Who is this traitor."_

_Altair's steps were quick and light, and he soon found himself standing for King Richard, encircled by his men. "Robert de Sable," he answered, garnering a shocked look from the Crusader._

"_My lieutenant?" _

"_He aims to betray," Altair confirmed._

"…_Is this true?" It was at this time that the Lionheart turned to one of his men. The knight raised his hands, placed them on either side of his head, and removed his helmet. It was him: Robert de Sable. This time it really was him and not some imposter. It was the same man Altair remembered from the Temple. The same man who had to die…_

* * *

The time had come. Altair had been given the chance to prove himself; to prove to King Richard that Robert was not the man he thought he knew. To, as the Lionheart had said, "Let this be decided by combat. Surely God will side with the one whose cause is righteous." Altair may not have been a man of God, but he found himself hoping that his actions _were_ justified: whether by an omniscient power or King Richard himself.

"So," Robert drawled as he strode forward, confidence marking each step. His broadsword was clasped tightly in his right hand and it swayed slightly with his gait, "we face each other once more. Let us hope you prove more of a challenge this time."

"I am not the man you faced inside the Temple," Altair retorted calmly as he unsheathed his sword.

De Sable made a humming sound in the back of his throat. "You look the same to me."

"Appearances _can_ deceive."

"True, true." De Sable raised his sword and Altair mirrored the action. Although he would never admit to it, Altair felt tense. In Jerusalem, he had been prepared for a battle with the Templar Grandmaster; however, he had been fooled into fighting an imposter - a woman imposter, no less. But now, here he was, face-to-face with his greatest enemy, and he felt unprepared. Exposed. Trapped. It truly was a terrible feeling.

Without warning, Robert advanced upon him, his sword making sharp contact with Altair's. "Soon this will be over and Masyaf will fall," the Templar spat, blocking a thrust from Altair and countering with a sideswipe.

A jolt shot through Altair as their steel crashed again. "My brothers are stronger than you think," he gritted out.

"We'll know the truth soon enough." A devious light glinted in de Sable's eyes as he increased the rapidity and strength in his blows. However, Altair was just as fast and skilled. True, his body felt weary from his fight in Jerusalem and from the hard ride he had to endure to reach Arsuf in time; but he still fought with fiery determination. He varied his strikes and tactics; danced away from de Sable's blade; parried and blocked the oncoming attacks; landed harsh blows of his own upon the enemy before him. It was enough to gain recognition from the Templar Grandmaster.

"Oh…so the child has learned to use a blade," de Sable commented, taking a step back and recalculating his strategy.

"I've had a lot of practice," Altair reminded him. "Your men saw to that."

"They were sacrificed in service to a higher cause."

"As will you be."

This seemed to trigger something within de Sable, for he bellowed in rage, "The time for games is ended!" Now he surged forward. Altair dodged to the best of his ability, but the blade cut across his upper arm, opening a gash in his sleeve and in the skin beneath it. Altair fought the urge to stumble backwards; fought the pain and the sensation of warm blood trailing down his arm. No, instead, he blocked the next attack then swept his own sword down low, creating a ghastly wound in de Sable's left thigh.

"It ended long ago," Altair declared, this time coming after de Sable's right side and successfully opening a wound in his torso.

The Templar Grandmaster faltered. "I do not know where your strength comes from…" he managed, although raggedly. "Some trick? Or is it drugs?"

"It is as your king said: righteousness will always triumph over greed." Altair noticed that de Sable had a weak defense now due to his newest injury. The end was nearing quickly, and they _both_ were starting to realize that. However, the Templar Grandmaster refused to believe that he had been bested.

"_My cause is righteous!_" de Sable roared. He tried - oh so desperately he tried - to strike down Altair, but it was a foolish and feeble attempt. Actually, it only seemed to seal the man's fate; for as the Templar knight shot towards him, Altair drove the sword straight through his tunic, armor, and chest.

It was over.

_**-o-**_

When Robert de Sable's body fell to the ground, Altair slowly and carefully removed the blade. It made a sickening noise, even to Altair's ears, but he pushed the fact aside and instead knelt beside the Templar Grandmaster.

"It's done, then. Your schemes - like you - are put to rest," Altair murmured. It was so…strange. He had been searching for this man for the past few months; now, he lay dying at his feet. It was as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

De Sable chuckled. "You know nothing of schemes. You're but a puppet. He betrayed you, boy - just as he betrayed me."

"Speak sense, Templar, _or not at all_," Altair bit out, his voice hoarse for some unknown reason.

The aforementioned Templar took a breath, slow and shaky. "Nine men he sent you to kill, yes? The nine who guarded the treasure's secret…"

"What of it?"

"It wasn't nine who found the treasure, Assassin," de Sable rasped, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips lazily. "Not nine, but _ten_."

"A tenth?" Altair hated how alarmed he sounded, especially in front of his enemy. "None may live who carry the secret. Give me his name."

"Oh…" he drawled, "but you know him well; and I doubt very much you'd take his life as willingly as you've taken mine."

"_Who?_" Altair demanded again.

"It is your Master. _Al Mualim_."

Silence. It was as if the world had gone still, just for that very moment. The pain swelled in Altair's arm and he just began to notice the headache that was throbbing in the back of his head. Everything he knew, everything he stood for…it evaporated before his very eyes. _Lies_.

"But he is not a Templar," Altair retorted. Now he sounded desperate; another emotion he did not want to reveal.

There was a flash of pity in de Sable's dark eyes. "Did you never wonder how it is he knew so much? Where to find us? How many we numbered? What we aspire to attain?"

_No, but…_ "He is the Master of the Assassins." Even though he fought to put truth and confidence behind his words, he found himself doubting them rather than believing in them. They felt…empty. Useless.

"_Oui_: Master of Lies," de Sable corrected, his smile growing. "You and I just two more pawns in his grand game. And now…with my death, only you remain. Do you think he'll let you live - knowing what you do?"

Altair shook his head fervently. "I've no interest in the treasure."

"Ah, but he does. The only difference between your Master and I is that he did not want to share."

"No…" Again, the world seemed to stop, distorting reality and making Altair's head pound in intolerable pain.

"Ironic isn't it?" de Sable asked. His breaths were becoming shallower. "That I - your greatest enemy - kept you safe from harm. But now you've taken my life - and in the process, ended your own."

With that, he died, the blood loss becoming too great. An overpowering numbness spread throughout Altair's body as he closed de Sable's eyes.

"We do not always find the things we seek," he said quietly, knowing all too well the truth to _those_ words.

All this time…after the death of nine men…Altair finally found the truth he had so desperately longed. However, he didn't feel any sense of accomplishment; rather, he wished he had never been told. Better yet, he wished that this was really a nightmare so he could simply wake up.

Because now, he had to face his _real_ enemy. He had to finish what he started. He had to kill Al Mualim.

* * *

**A/N: **Hope you enjoyed, and please R&R to let me know what you think!

Until next time...


	12. Chapter 12: Falling

**Author's Note: **So...here we are again. I apologize: I meant to post this _yesterday_, but my brain was completely fried - to the point that I was too lazy to edit and check this Chapter. Therefore, I postponed the editing and posting for today.

Anywho...this Chapter is similarly written to the previous one. I know, the battle between Al Mualim and Altair is a big one but...it was too much, and I would basically be writing out what we saw in the game. So I shortened it, mainly tranlating the emotions and thoughts that were running through poor Altair's mind. Besides...look to the bright side: we don't have to listen to Al Mualim's lengthy speech! Haha...ha...*cough* Well, enough with my ramblings... On to the story!

**Reply to Reviews:**

_**Victory Goddess: **_I will have to agree upon that: Robert _was_ an intriguing character. However, I still hold a grudge, for he killed Kadar and maimed Malik... :'(

Well, I hope you enjoy, and thank you for reviewing :).

_**xLadyxLionheartx: **_:D Glad to know you liked it! :/ Yeah...let's just say, Altair's gonna have a long road to recovery from here...

XD I know, right? Don't worry: Sa'ida will learn very soon the truth behind Altair. How she will react though...well, that is an entirely different problem...X)

As always, I appreciate the love and support, and I hope you enjoy! ^^

_**ctrlaltdiee: **_Agreed. No matter how many I read/play through that _one_ part, it punches me in the feels. It's even worse when you have to write it, too... :/

As for 'Azab...well, you're about to find out ;). Enjoy!

_**Guest (:Am loving your...): **_Thanks you, and please, enjoy the new installment! :)

_**sammiepie00: **_Thanks! Hope you like this one as well, and I thank you for the review ^^.

_**Disclaimer: Let's face it...I will never own the wonderful universe of Assassin's Creed. The only things that I do own from the series are the characters that I create for it (Sa'ida, Ghalib, Fahdah, 'Azab, and now, Taysir). Credit goes to Seventhfold for helping me with Sa'ida's name.**_

* * *

**Chapter XII:**

**Falling**

"_You were my conscience, so solid, now you're like water; We started drowning, not like we'd sink any further […] Call me a traitor, I'm just collecting your victims; They're getting stronger, I hear them calling, calling." -Paramore, "Monster"_

* * *

For the umpteenth time, 'Azab patted the stallion's smooth neck; however, he was beginning to wonder if the action was really an effort to comfort the horse or himself. His muscles were tense in anticipation, ready to fight or take flight when needed; his left hand continuously drifted towards the hilt of his sword; his eyes darted from one place to the next, wary of any movement that caught his attention…everything just felt _wrong_. The air, the overcast skies, the unsubtle wind that tugged at his robes - _everything_. Even his instincts were sounding off alarms in his head, trying desperately to help him understand exactly _what_ was wrong, but failing miserably.

'Azab shifted in his saddle before directing his attention to his traveling companion. His name was Taysir Abdul-'Adl. He was a tall, stout man who mostly kept to himself - and when he did speak, it was normally in short, to-the-point sentences. He was quick anger - so 'Azab took care to tread carefully when speaking to him - and he was strictly loyal to any who deserved such treatment. His attire suggested that his current loyalties lied with the Brotherhood - why else would 'Azab be following him if he was _not_ within the Brotherhood's ranking? - and judging from his selection of weapons, he preferred the silent, deadly, and unnoticeable methods. He was almost like the opposite of 'Azab, strangely enough…not that 'Azab was complaining. Besides, Taysir's company was probably better than most, considering that the man gave 'Azab _plenty_ of time to think to himself about their situation.

However, 'Azab was starting to hate the silence. He was a boisterous man, and he was not afraid to admit to the fact. Even just a short conversation would settle his frayed nerves - or, at least, he hoped it would. Either way, it was an excellent excuse to break the utter stillness.

"I still do not understand… Why send for me? Surely I am not all that important," 'Azab began, his half-hearted joke at the end falling flat.

Taysir turned his head to face him, his brown eyes barely visible underneath his hood. "I do not know, either. Malik insisted, though, and his judgment is normally sound."

"Mm…very true."

Taysir cocked an eyebrow. "I was not aware that you were acquainted with him…"

'Azab cut him off with a weak chuckle. "No, no. I am not. What I know about Malik Al-Sayf is simply through rumors around Damascus. Personally, however, I know nothing about him." He paused, thinking absently. "Which leads me to another question: how would he even know of _my_ existence?"

"You are a fellow Brother, are you not?"

There was a brief hesitation before 'Azab continued in a mildly blatant voice, "Once upon time, perhaps. But that was the past."

"It does not matter. What you once were is _still_ a part of _you_. You can never erase it, despite how hard you try," Taysir stated firmly. He stared at 'Azab for a second or two more before returning his eyes his eyes to the road. Meanwhile, 'Azab settled back into the all-too-familiar silence as he mulled over Taysir's words.

_You can never erase it, despite how hard you try_. He bit his lower lip at the thought and how it brought a sickening feeling deep within his gut. That's exactly what he had wanted to do: he had wanted to disappear. Actually, he thought he had already accomplished this. Perhaps he had thought wrong…

Mentally, he shook away the thought and struggled for a way to keep the conversation going. "It seems you speak out of experience. Care to enlighten me?"

"Only if you will do the same." 'Azab's eyebrows shot up in surprise, although, Taysir never saw since his eyes remained trained on the road. There was an extended pause while Taysir waited patiently and 'Azab deliberated upon the request.

Another chuckle left his lips. "I do not see why you would be so interested in _my_ life."

"Neither do I know why _you_ are in interested in _mine_," Taysir countered calmly, voice level. He then tugged gently at the reins, bringing his horse to a gradual stop. 'Azab followed suit, his own steed coming to a halt next to Taysir's. "My past is my own and I would like to keep it that way; and it seems you would like to do the same. I will respect that, only if you will respect _my _boundaries."

'Azab's lips pressed into a thin line. "I have nothing to hide," he objected.

"I never said you did."

A few moments passed without another word being shared. 'Azab only stared at Taysir, his heart beating quickly in his chest. "My mistake," he said finally - stiffly. Nudging his horse's side, he continued on with Taysir right behind him.

They did not speak to each other throughout the rest of their journey, save for a few disagreements upon which direction to take (Taysir was always correct, much to 'Azab's irritancy). Other than that, silence. However, this time, 'Azab accepted it gratefully and he kept his distance from Taysir.

Meanwhile, his anxiety grew worse. With each hill they crested, the world around them grew darker and the air became _heavier_. It made 'Azab wonder: what would it be like once they reached Masyaf? What was causing this strange sense of…danger and dreariness? He thought of every possible conclusion, but they failed to deliver. He was missing pieces; and important ones, at that. There were gaps that needed to be connected and holes to be filled, but 'Azab just didn't have the appropriate answers - much to his agitation. He _should know_ what was going on, he would tell himself. It was in the back of his mind, on the tip of his tongue; however, it would not reveal itself. Hidden, it was, and right in 'Azab's reach. If only he could…

His train of thought collapsed as his eyes landed upon the three figures ahead of them. They each sat astride their mounts, waiting rather impatiently, and they each perked up when they saw Taysir and himself trotting their way. One of them - who was missing his left arm - wheeled his palomino forward to face them.

"Malik," Taysir greeted once he and 'Azab were close.

"I was worried you would not make it. You were cutting it close, indeed." Malik's gaze drifted from Taysir to 'Azab, his stare always calculating and analyzing. 'Azab, in turn - and rather awkwardly - nodded his greeting before diverting his attention to his horse. Again, he stroked the stallion's neck, seeking some form of consolation.

"My apologies," Taysir said quietly, tucking his chin in slightly.

Malik waved the comment aside. "There is no need for apologies. What matters is that you are here now and we can began our ride for Masyaf. It is not far from here."

The Dai was just about to issue the command to go forward when 'Azab spoke abruptly, "Why are we needed in Masyaf? What is so urgent?"

The question seemed to be on everyone's mind, for Taysir and the other two men immediately directed their gazes to Malik. Aforementioned Dai paused and spared a glance to each of his men before finally centering his focus on 'Azab. There was a glint in the man's eyes - a knowing glint that only 'Azab could see, and it increased his anxiety tenfold.

_He knew. He knew it all._

"Our Master, Al Mualim, has betrayed us," Malik announced lowly. "I know this now, and Altair does as well. _That_ is why we are going to Masyaf - to assist him in any way we can." He paused, letting the news sink in. "I wish it was all a lie, but there is too much proof. Too much evidence." He sighed then, his somber eyes meeting 'Azab's guilty ones. "That is why I sent for you: to settle this for me and my men. For us all. To bring the truth into the light."

'Azab's teeth clenched tightly and his heart lurched in his chest. _You should have known, _a voice whispered deep within his subconscious, _You should have known that you could not hide forever._

"You have known this for a while now, haven't you?" Malik asked. There was no accusation, no blame - only regret and pain. "You knew."

He stared blankly at the Dai, reality crashing down. "Yes. For a long time, I have known. And just like any other man who knew that no one would believe him: I ran, and I hid." He leaned forward in his saddle. "Al Mualim trapped me, then gave me a choice - _and I chose to run_."

* * *

Altair moved deliberately through the gates, his senses on high alert. The village was eerily quiet and calm, with only a few souls wandering the streets; and even they seemed oblivious to their surroundings, keeping their eyes trained upon the Assassins' stronghold on the cliff-side. It made him wonder: what did Al Mualim do to these people? To this entire _place_?

His amber eyes then focused upon the empty fountain a few feet in front of him. There, standing before it, was a villager. Slowly, the man lumbered towards him, stumbling on each step, like he could not walk properly.

"What's happened here? Where is everyone?" Altair asked sharply, concern etched on his features as he glanced around yet again. This was not Masyaf; no, this was like a shadow of its former glory.

"Gone to see the Master," the villager supplied, his voice light, but also flat. His eyes were almost lifeless, staring listlessly forward - like he was a dead-man walking. It sent a rare chill down Altair's spine.

"Was it the Templars?" he continued to press. "Did they attack again?"

"They walk the path," was the answer Altair received. Again, it was light-heartedly said, almost like a delusional chant.

"_What path?_" Altair demanded. His flexed the fingers on his left hand. "What are you talking about?"

"Towards the light…" It was most definitely a chant. One that had been integrated into his mind - into his soul…

"Speak sense!" he growled, his eyes drifting towards the stronghold. He couldn't help but think that he was being watched.

"There is only what the Master shows us. _This_ is the _truth_."

Altair shook his head. "You've lost your mind."

"You, too, will walk the path, or you will perish. So the Master commands." Altair could now imagine Al Mualim in his tower, standing before the window, watching them as he somehow fed these words to the villager so that they could be passed on to him.

"It was Al Mualim, wasn't it? What has he done to you?" Although he had asked anyway, Altair knew that he would not receive a sensible answer in return. This man was like a puppet. A man who has truly lost all control of his mind.

"Praise be to the Master, for he has led us to the light!…"

Altair left him, jogging onward. His body ached, straining with each step - each movement. He had not stopped since his fruitless mission within Jerusalem, and the toll was starting to became painfully obvious. And, to make things worse, his mind spun uncontrollably. So suddenly he had been dropped into reality - shown the secrets and truths that had revolved around him unknowingly. With these two factors combined, it made a terrible mixture. One that wracked him to his very core.

He slowed as he rounded the final bend, breathing a little heavily. Up ahead, he could see the winding pathway that led to the fortress; however, it was blocked - and by his own Brothers, no less. They stood there, rigid and glassy eyed, their swords gripped tightly in their palms. In a strange form of unity, they lifted aforementioned weapons, swaying slightly on their feet as they advanced towards Altair.

There was a brief hesitation in Altair's movements as he, too, unsheathed his sword. He could not attack these men; they were his companions - his brothers-in-arms. Killing them would not only defy the Order's tenets, but it would also break his own moral code. He may have once been a man of utter arrogance and disregard, but even he had his limits and boundaries. No, he would not harm them; whatever it took, he would avoid this option.

With his inward dispute settled, he returned his attention back to his mindless Brothers. They were already upon him, attacking with the deadly speed and skill of any well-trained assassin - and they were relentless. A clash, then a jab, then a dodge, then a swipe - it was a vicious battle that bore down on Altair with little mercy. He, in turn, tried desperately to avoid using his blade unless for blocking or parrying a strike. His counters were composed of kicks and punches as he knocked down his Brothers. However, it wasn't enough. They only got back up with a mere bruise or cut - and those injuries were certainly not enough to quell their ferocity. They just _kept coming_.

Altair found himself stumbling backwards and downhill after a brutal advance from one of the assassins, and he struggled to keep himself from falling completely to the ground. In his peripheral vision, he could see reinforcements dashing down the hill, all chanting phrases concerning the Master's 'greatness.'

_Too many_, he thought grimly, raising his sword to block a downward stroke. Now they were at all sides, leaving Altair very little opportunity at defending himself. He would dodge one attack only to receive a painful lash from another. They had the advantage of numbers; Altair had only himself to rely upon. Only…

A man cried out in pain as he grasped the back of his knee. Through his fingers, Altair could see the crimson color of blood seeping out. Then another man hollered, gripping his shoulder and stumbling away, confused and injured. The phenomenon spread throughout the crowd around him, and they fled - some cradling wounds while others unscathed. His brow knitted together in both bewilderment and relief, and he searched around him somewhat frantically for an answer to the sudden turn of events.

And once he found it, a wave of joy hit him.

On the rock outcropping above him stood Malik along with four other men unknown to him. A relieved smile worked its way across his scarred lips as Malik waved to him and motioned for him to join them. Altair complied readily and he jogged up the path - sluggishly, yes, but he tried not to mull upon his weariness.

"You picked a fine time to arrive," Altair remarked once he reached his friend. He looked the Dai up-and-down, then continued to scan the other four. They did not hold the same appearance as the rest of the people within Masyaf; no, they still withheld their minds and souls, much to Altair's gratitude.

A rare smirk tugged at Malik's lips. "So it seems."

Altair's jovial mood quickly shifted into a more serious one. "Guard yourself well, friend. Al Mualim has betrayed us…"

"Yes. Betrayed his Templar allies as well."

Altair was taken aback, and he stared in disbelief at Malik. He knew the truth? "How did you know?" he asked guardedly, but with open curiosity.

A grim expression replaced the small smirk on Malik's features, and he regarded Altair with a graven tone. "After we spoke, I returned to the ruins beneath Solomon's Temple. Robert had kept a written record, filled its pages with revelations." He paused, swallowing hard. "What I read there broke my heart…but it also opened my eyes. You were right, Altair: all along our Master has used us. We were not meant to save the Holy Land, but deliver it to him. He must be stopped."

Before Altair responded, he took into account the nervous shifting of one of the men. It was as if he expected something - expected Malik to add in some other tidbit of information. What, Altair could never guess; so he saved it for another occasion. Surely all could be explained after the immediate threat had been eliminated.

Returning to the situation at hand, he said, "Be careful, Malik. What he's done to the others, he'll do to us given the chance. You must stay far from him."

"What would you propose? My blade arm is still strong and my men remain my own," Malik retorted, his words accompanied by wild gestures from his good hand. "It would be a mistake not to use us."

"Distract these thralls, then. Assault the fortress from behind," Altair suggested calmly. "If you can draw their attention away from me, I might reach Al Mualim."

His friend considered the strategy, undoubtedly torn between options. Finally, he responded, though a little sullenly, "I will do as you ask."

Altair was about to continue forward, when an afterthought struck him. "The men we face - their minds are not their own. If you can avoid killing them…"

"Yes," Malik broke in subtly. "Though he has betrayed the tenets of the Creed, it does not mean we must as well. I'll do what I can."

"It's all I ask." Then, in a softer tone, "Safety and peace, my friend."

Malik's lips quirked upwards in a mischievous grin. "Your presence here will deliver us both," he said, bowing slightly before moving on. Altair cast one last wary glance over the other four men.

One of them - the anxious one from earlier - nodded at him, adding, "Good luck, Brother. Bring Al Mualim down - for all that he has done."

Altair could have lingered there, thinking upon this man and his actions and words; but, instead, he clasped the man's shoulder, saying, "I will."

It was a strange and rare moment, but it at least a brought a tired and almost pitiful smile to the opposing man's face. "Then it seems that I already owe you an even greater debt." He departed, following Malik and the rest of his men downhill and leaving Altair more confused than ever.

_What did he mean by that?_

* * *

_Pain. Unbearable pain was what he faced as he entered the garden. It encompassed him, preying on his wounds and pulling him apart at the seams. He cried out - in both agony and surprise - as he was forced into a strictly upright position. His arms were drawn uncomfortably behind him and he was forced to look up towards the balcony above him. There, standing in all his glory, was Al Mualim - and in his hand pulsed the artifact. Its golden light dimly lit the garden around him, and he was vaguely aware of the thin layer of gold that outlined his own frame._

_Everything within him surged and twisted. He felt beaten down and trampled upon. Betrayal and a sense of angst tore at him, burning and writhing as it reached every part of his person - as it plagued his mind with ugly thoughts and images. His free will seemed to be raging a war - a war to keep the power of the artifact from taking a hold on him. He felt pain, but he also felt numb. He felt alone, but he also felt surrounded. He felt anger, but he also felt shattered._

_He was going to die._

* * *

He gasped as he was restrained yet again. It burned - both physically and mentally, it burned. Like a great fire was consuming him, _it burned_. Still, though, he fought against the power and the pain that was brought down upon him. He would not stop; he would not bow down to the Master as everyone else has done. No, he was going to end this - _end him_. Like the replicas of his past targets - and even the fake copies of his Master - Al Mualim would fall. Altair would not let him have the Holy Land; he would not let him destroy the Order.

_Bring Al Mualim down - for all that he has done_, Altair remembered fondly. A stranger, yet a Brother.

_Your presence here will deliver us both._ Malik - he owed so much to that man. Even through all the hardships - all the times that Altair had slipped up - Malik remained at his side.

_Oh? Am I that interesting to you? _Sa'ida. He found it strange - thinking of a woman he barely knew during such a crucial moment. But…he couldn't help but think back on that day. Even through his rash and childish acts, she listened to him. Spoke to him. _Believed_ in him.

He sucked in a breath, then exhaled, opening his eyes and meeting Al Mualim's gaze evenly. This artifact _had_ no power over him; and neither did his Master. _Former_ Master.

He felt his body being released, and he let his hand tighten on the hilt of his sword. No more mysteries. No more betrayal. No more loss. He was tired of it all, and the source was standing before him. A man he had trusted - a man he had looked up to ever since his father's death…

It was nothing more than an illusion. And now, he was going to end it.

He fought fiercely, the pent up emotions breaking down the walls and pouring out. Every move was contributed by some form of anger or hurt - mainly both. His energy had dried up long ago, yet he still found some strength buried deep within him - and he clung to it like a lifeline, never letting go. Al Mualim taunted him with words that bit and stung, but he shut them out.

_It's an illusion_, he told himself. _It cannot touch you as long as you see past it. Fight it, Altair - fight it!_

An enraged cry broke the air as Altair's sword met Al Mualim's with a fierce _clash_ and _shing_. The vibration from the blocked attack shook his frame and rattled his core - and, judging from his drawn features, Al Mualim felt it, too. His Master saw - albeit, with a touch of worry - the determination in Altair's eyes; saw the desperation and fury in his strikes - felt them, actually. He used the artifact in every way he could, but he did not see how much energy it was sucking out of him.

Unfortunately for him, however, Altair _did_.

The battle sped up, and it worked in Altair's favor. Al Mualim found _himself_ struggling now, and he began to panic, attacking with careless and reckless moves. He was becoming sloppy, and Altair gained from that weakness. He _welcomed it_, for he knew that it would be the old man's downfall.

Altair took two steps back, breath labored and heart pounding. Al Mualim was trying to recover from a series of blows that Altair had dealt to him; and, therefore, he was vulnerable. It was evident to both Master and Student.

"Altair…wait…" Al Mualim said wearily - desperately - as he attempted to stop the inevitable.

But no. It was too late to turn back. Altair's blade glistened in the artifact's golden light before it entered Al Mualim's chest. Tears blurred his vision as he met Al Mualim's gaze. He had seen the life drain away from a man's eyes before - many times, actually. However, he never thought that he would see his Master's life slip through his fingers - he never thought that he would be the cause of his death.

And, it seems, neither did Al Mualim.

_**-o-**_

"Impossible…" Al Mualim murmured, watching as the artifact rolled out of his hand and across the gray stones. Slowly, he met Altair's gaze, a mixture of emotions splayed across his features. "The student does not defeat the teacher…"

"_Laa shay'a waqi'un moutlaq bale kouloun moumkine (Nothing is true, everything is permitted)_," Altair recited, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

Al Mualim sighed heavily. "You have won, then. Go, and claim your prize."

Altair lowered his head, hiding his face in the shadows of his hood. Hiding his tears. "You held fire in your hand, old man," Altair bit out hoarsely - harshly. "It should have been destroyed."

"Destroy the only thing capable of ending the Crusades and creating true peace?" Al Mualim asked, disbelief intertwining his words. "_Never_."

"Then I will," Altair concluded, rising and walking away. His eyes landed on the circular artifact that lay undisturbed a few feet away.

Distantly, he could hear Al Mualim chuckling darkly. "_We'll see about that_," he intoned, his half-blind gaze following Altair's every step. As Altair stood before the artifact, it began to glow, shining and pulsating rapidly. "I applied my heart to know wisdom, and to know madness and folly," he could hear Al Mualim preaching from behind him, "I perceived that this also was chasing after wind. For in much wisdom is much and grief, and he that increaseth knowledge, increaseth sorrow."

Then, in a great flash, an image appeared before him, hovering and spinning above the artifact. Altair's eyes widened in awe, and his breathing hitched as he staggered backwards. It was…it was…he didn't know _what _it was. A map, obviously, but of what? The world, perhaps? But…that was impossible…

"_Destroy it! Destroy it as you said you would!_" Al Mualim bellowed, his voice rasp.

Altair flexed his fingers. He _had_ to destroy it but… "I…I can't…" he said, uselessly.

"Yes, you can Altair," Al Mualim said, fading. Dying. "You can…_but you won't_."

From the garden's entrance, the sound of running feet echoed loudly, nearing his position. He never looked away from the image; but out of the corner of his eye, he could see Malik and his men rushing in. They halted, staring, completely dumbfounded. They, too, were in awe. How could he blame them?

Suddenly, the image blinked away, blinding Altair. He stumbled away, his head spinning and body screaming in pain. He could hear voices murmuring, though he knew not from where, and he heard an alarmed cry from his right - or, was it his left? It mattered little, for the next thing he remembered was falling. How far, he could only guess; however, what he _did_ know was that, once his body collided with the earth, he was embraced by a soothing darkness. A darkness that washed away all the pain, leaving him in a delusional, unknown world, surrounded by nothing.

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**A/N: **Well...that's a wrap then. And yes, I know that Altair (in the game or the book) did not fall unconscious; but...I think it was very necessary. It adds dramatic effect. *nod nod*

Thank you to all the wonderful readers out there who have followed, favored, and/or reviewed this story: you give this author some pretty stupendous encouragement. Without you, this story would cease to exist...

Until next time...


	13. Chapter 13: The Swordsman's Descent

_**Disclaimer: I think we all know this by heart now: sweettea1 does not own Assassin's Creed. She only owns her original characters (Sa'ida, Ghalib, Fahdah, 'Azab, and Taysir) and Seventhfold gave her a helping hand in naming Sa'ida.**_

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**Chapter XIII:**

**The Swordsman's Descent**

"_I need another story, Something to get off my chest […] This time, don't need another perfect lie." -OneRepublic, "Secrets"_

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"What are you doing here?"

'Azab jumped and he turned his attention away from the book he was currently scanning. There, at the top of the staircase to the Master's study, stood Malik with a handful of books tucked under his good arm. He bit his bottom lip nervously as he closed aforementioned book and returned it to its rightful place.

"I needed something," he replied evenly. Then, gesturing towards the bookshelves that occupied much of the space, he added, "I was hoping that I would find my answers here. However, I have had no such luck."

Malik knitted his eyebrows together in confusion. "And what is it that you are seeking out?"

With a drawn-out sigh, 'Azab pointed at the Master's desk. On the smooth, wooden surface sat his hidden blade gauntlet, basking in the sunlight. At a glance, the mechanism appeared to be in perfect condition; however, upon closer inspection, one could obviously see that the blade underneath was snapped clean in half. Broken, and therefore, rendered useless.

"It was damaged in battle - and by a novice mistake, no less." 'Azab ambled forward, lips pressed in a thin line as he stared at his least favorite weapon. "My sword was knocked out of my grasp and away from my reach. So, when the next series of strikes came, I used my blade to defend myself. You can see how that went…"

Malik's bewildered expression soon fell from his face, and he snorted in slight amusement. The Dai then strode forward, placed his load on the desk, and picked up the gauntlet to further examine it. "I wouldn't quite call it a novice's mistake," he concluded, carefully running his thumb across the broken edge. "You were simply trying to find another way to protect yourself. I'd rather have a broken blade than a dead man."

He put down the gauntlet and met 'Azab's gaze. "Still, I fail to understand why you would be searching for a way to fix it yourself when there is blacksmith who could do the job just as profoundly."

'Azab folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall. "When it comes to my problems, I resolve them myself. I've learned not to rely too heavily on others - rather, I depend upon my own abilities and proficiencies. If I look to the blacksmith to repair my blade every time it breaks, then what happens when he is no longer around to do the job? Or what if I am too far away - perhaps on a mission - and I cannot seek out his help? The same applies to all other aspects of life. Therefore, I take upon myself such responsibilities as repairing my blade - to gain the knowledge."

"That seems rather dark," Malik mused aloud. Thoughtfully, he walked over to a nearby bookcase and began to scan its shelves with a careful eye. "You do not strike me as one to take such a…solitary path."

The merchant's lips formed into a humorless smirk. "I can put up a good act." Then, in a more absent tone, he said, "I can be a sociable man; but when it comes to my work and responsibilities, I solely deal with them. Placing my issues upon the shoulders of others is not my way of doing things."

'Azab watched as the Dai removed a rather thick book from the shelf, studied the cover for few seconds, and then strolled back over to the desk. Gently, he placed the book down next to 'Azab's gauntlet, making the merchant quirk an eyebrow in obvious question.

"Your solution," Malik supplied, waving his hand towards both book and broken blade.

'Azab gawked, blinking a few times before responding, "Right…of course it is."

A chuckle emitted from Malik as he moved to the front of the desk and started to sort through his previous load, picking up certain books and placing them at different intervals on the bookcases. "One thing you _could_ learn, 'Azab, is that you cannot do everything on your own. You're only human, after all."

Aforementioned merchant pushed himself away from the wall and stood before the Master's desk. He, too, brushed a finger over the broken blade, feeling the cool metal slide across his skin. Despite its damaged state, the weapon was as sharp as ever - only shorter and less manageable. Honestly, 'Azab wouldn't mind _not_ having the hidden blade; however, he knew that, as soon as he tossed the weapon to the side, he would need it again. The contraption, no matter how frustrating it was, was an assassin's closest companion. It was an extension of his arm, and it was responsible for much of his stealth and deadliness. The hidden blade was more than a mere blade strategically strapped to a gauntlet - it was a _part_ of the assassin.

His gaze then traveled to the thick, solid, leather-bound book. The cover was nothing to be awed about: it was dark brown in color with a golden border, and the title was scribbled in small letters at the top. He flipped it open, glancing over the contents written inside - and his eyebrows shot upwards once he saw the numerous, finely written lines of information that covered _each _and _every_ page. Everything you could possibly want to know about the blade was - no doubt - somewhere within this book. The problem was trying to _find_ what you were searching for.

"Is this all _really _necessary?" 'Azab asked as he motioned towards the open book, his tone exasperated. "I just need to know the construction and metal types. But this…this is too much. I highly doubt that I will need to know the contraption's _history_ to be able to repair it."

The Dai glanced over his shoulder, a wry smile on his features. "The knowledge you seek is somewhere within that book. Where? Well, you're _bound_ to find it with a little research."

'Azab dragged a hand down his face. He stared at the words before him, contemplating his options. Then, after a couple of minutes had passed, he closed the book with a heavy sigh. "I'll take it to the blacksmith," he finally said, caving in. However, a mischievous glint entered his eyes. "Besides, what better way to learn a craft than by watching the master?"

Another chuckle. "I wish you the best of luck, then. That man is not one to reveal his secrets freely."

At this comment, 'Azab paused, retracting his hand from the gauntlet. His blue gaze dropped to the stone floor and he examined every scratch, crack, and crevice with sudden interest. _Not one to reveal his secrets freely…_

Malik must have noticed the change in mood, for he turned to face the merchant, concern and confusion marking his features. "Something wrong?"

'Azab lifted his head. "How did you come to know about my…" - he struggled for the appropriate word - "About my secret?"

For the second time, Malik's confusion melted away and his previous concern morphed into a graven attitude. "Trust me, it was far from common knowledge. It is a wonder upon how _I_ managed to stumble upon it." He wandered back over to the desk, eyes still trained on 'Azab. "News of your discovery somehow reached Templar ears - Robert de Sable's, more specifically. In his records beneath Solomon's Temple, your name was mentioned once. Apparently, he had been watching and listening - _waiting_ to see what course of action you would take after learning the truth about our Master. But, it seems you failed to live up to his expectations, and you quickly disappeared from his writings."

The merchant clenched his jaw and shook his head. "Then why even send for me? I obviously did nothing to stop Al Mualim, and I all but vanished from the Order. What pushed you to pursue such a lost cause?"

The Dai raised an eyebrow. "Because I did not perceive it as a lost cause. I saw you as a great asset - a man who could help restore order." He made a wide gesture towards the Master's study. "As for Al Mualim…I believe _you're_ the one who told me that there was nothing you could do."

"It was my word against his. No one would have believed me over their Master," 'Azab agreed solemnly, placing his hand on the desk and leaning against it. "And I fail to see how _I_ could help you restore _order_."

"You know the truth behind our Master - that alone could help in the long-run. The Brotherhood fails to realize that Al Mualim has betrayed them, and they thoroughly believe that Altair has killed him simply out of spite. Already, a rebellion is brewing within our midst; and Altair's position as our _new_ Grandmaster is not settling well amongst them."

"And you think that I will make a difference?" 'Azab asked impatiently, frustration and anger boiling over. "_They_ only want to hear what _they_ believe is true. They only want my words to be a translation of _their_ thoughts. If I speak otherwise, they will only refute me, adding to the chaos instead of decreasing it. They wouldn't have believed me before; and the situation is no different now."

"But what if they _do_ believe you? What if they _will_ listen to you?" Malik retorted, just as frustrated. "Would you fight to quell this rebellion then?"

'Azab let out a long exhale as he picked up his gauntlet. Studying the broken blade, he responded quietly, "Whether it be for better or for worse, I will do what I can. However, the only reason why I help you and Altair is because I feel as though I owe you a great debt.

"Despite what you say, or how I try to convince myself otherwise, I could have done something about Al Mualim. Perhaps I could have woven suspicion and doubt amongst the Order. Try to expose the old man for what he really was. But I did none of that; rather, I established a deal between me and _him_, and then I fled. I am no better than our former Master. He wove the perfect lie, and I kept it from falling apart."

He shook his head disappointedly. "Curiosity is a terrible quality, Malik. It can lead you to great truths and splendors, or it could lead you to your downfall. It's a chance you have to take. For me…it set me on a direct course to destruction."

With that, 'Azab took his leave, gauntlet clutched tightly in his left hand. He descended the steps, watching his footing as he did so; and, as he began to travel down the second set, he felt someone bump into him. Looking up, he saw a familiar white-hooded figure brush past him.

"Altair," 'Azab half-heartedly greeted. Aforementioned man paused mid-step and turned his upper torso slightly so he could glance back at the merchant. "I was not aware that you had regained consciousness. How is your recovery coming along?"

"Slow," he deadpanned, a cold edge to his tone.

An uneasy feeling formed in 'Azab's gut. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"So am I." The conversation ended, and Altair continued up the steps. 'Azab's gaze followed him all the way to the top, noticing how the man favored his right side - albeit from a still-healing wound. However, what concerned 'Azab the most was how Altair acted towards him. Either the man truly was having a bad recovery, or he had heard the whole conversation between himself and Malik - probably both.

"I pray for the day that I return to Damas to come quickly…" he muttered to himself, then continued on to find the blacksmith. The sooner his blade was repaired, the better - same went for the rebellion.

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_Time has passed quickly ever since I left Damascus, but not without good reason. Masyaf had taken a huge step back, and just recently, Altair has been able to bring back its former glory. Al Mualim's corrupted ways are a thing of the past; the rebellion against Altair has been - in simple terms - squashed; and Altair…well, he has proven himself to be a strong and capable leader. True, he still has some flaws and the past has given him new and permanent scars, but he is only human, just like the rest of us._

_As for myself? I played my role in stopping the rebellion and supporting Altair, but nothing that is worth wasting a breath over. My impact upon the Brotherhood has been small, and I still carry much guilt in my heart. Each time I set my gaze upon the stone walls of Masyaf's stronghold, I am reminded of the past. I may have been able to shed some light upon Al Mualim's true intentions now, but what would have happened if I had done the same years ago? Could have all of this disaster and misery been avoided if I had shared my knowledge sooner? Malik tries to convince me that my efforts would have been - in all honesty - futile, but it seems Altair would say otherwise._

_Altair distrusts me, plain as that. He may show me a form of respect, and he may be thankful that I stood by him during the rebellion, but he obviously does not trust me. I have no doubt he wonders what else I know - what other secrets I keep hidden from the rest. It actually makes me slightly nervous, for I do know about one more thing: I know about his connection to Sa'ida. _

_Roughly a month ago - has it already been that long? - I left that note in the Assassins' Bureau for him. I know he has it, but the real question is: has he considered it? _

_I would like to say "yes, he has"; especially since he plans to begin a journey to Damas tomorrow. However, that does not necessarily mean that he is going to tell Sa'ida the truth. He may simply want to see her again - or, he could be traveling there for some other unknown reason. For all I know, he may have forgotten about the woman, sad as it may sound. It truly is a mystery to me…_

…_I am hoping to return to Damas as well - and quickly, for that matter. Once, I thought I had missed being an Assassin, but I was terribly wrong. The Brotherhood may be on the right track now, but I still feel unwanted - useless. My legacy here ended a long time ago, and it cannot be reignited…_

…_So it has been settled: upon Altair's return, I will be departing for Damascus - for home. I just hope that, if Sa'ida is the reason that Altair is going to Damas, she can handle things on her own. Really, I shouldn't worry - she is a grown woman. There will be times she will have to fight her own battles, and I will not always be there to help her through it. _

_My prayers are with her._

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**Reply to Reviews:**

_**Victory Goddess: **_Yeah...I'm sure we'll see Taysir later on down the road...maybe...0_o That, or he is going to have a very short legacy.

And don't worry: I'm ready to bring back Sa'ida as well. How long has it been since I have had that girl in this story, anyway?...*sigh* Too long.

Anywho, hope you liked the new installment! :D

_**MJluver777: **_Glad to know that I've piqued your interest ;). Thank you for the review. :)

_**ctrlaltdiee: **_Ah, yes, I will need to fix those mistakes. Thank you for pointing them out to me, and I will correct them as soon as possible.

And I surprised you, did I ;)? It seems 'Azab has a few secrets he's been hiding, afterall. And it won't be the last time, either *evil laughter*

Ahem...sorry XD. Glad you liked Chapter 12, and I hope Chapter 13 was just as good, too. I appreciate the review!

_**Sassiersphinx81: **_:D Thanks! Hope this one lived up to expectations!

_**LovePeaceandMusic: **_Sa'ida will return next Chapter (promise!) and the truth will be revealed... Wow...that sounded a little too...dramatic...oh well. Hope you liked Chapter 13! :)

**Author's Note: **Well, well, well. I'm sure you've noticed that I have changed my Chapter format - concerning the Disclaimer, Author's Note, and Review Replies, at least. It just felt too...crammed and jumbled at the top; so, I decided to switch some things around. I think it looks pretty nice now, actually...

Anyway! So uh...Chapter 13..._unlucky__ 13_. I dunno. Maybe it's the critique part of my brain speaking when I say this, but it feels kinda...slow; however, I knew I wanted this Chapter since it delves into 'Azab's character a bit more. Plus, jumping straight into the events of Chapter 14 felt too jarring to be a substitue for 13 here. But, who knows: maybe I'm wrong and it's completely fine...

Well, thanks for reading, and R&R to let me know what your thoughts are. :)


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